


Rooted In Memory

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Transformation, DCBB 2020, Epic quests, Eventually Resolved Sexual Tension, Happy Ending, Hate to Love, Idiots in Love, Illustrated, Jack Kline & Claire Novak Friendship, M/M, Minor Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Minor Sarah Blake/Sam Winchester, More Like Irritation to Infatuation, Romantic Comedy, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: Dean has one job: protect the princess. And he’s very good at it. Until Claire disappears in the middle of the night, along with Jack, the prince of the neighbouring kingdom, who everyone expects she’ll marry someday.Dean’s next step is clear: find Claire and bring her home. But in order to do so, he’ll have to team up with Castiel, Jack’s bodyguard, the most frustrating (and attractive) man Dean knows. As they bicker their way through a sprawling, slightly magical forest, they also confront their own thorny past, leaving Dean with the uncomfortable feeling that maybe he’s been wrong about Castiel all along.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 91
Kudos: 498
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here it is, my entry for the 2020 round of the Dean/Cas Big Bang!
> 
> An enormous debt of gratitude, as ever, to my stunningly talented artist, Aceriee. Every time we work together, you manage to exceed my wildest dreams, and you did it all this round while co-modding with me. Best partner ever. Please leave her some love on [tumblr](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/post/631146936475451392/its-starting-to-become-routine-to-add-the) or here on [AO3.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811328)
> 
> Thank you also to VioletHaze for beta-reading and making me laugh out loud while editing, which is a tricky thing to accomplish. You make me so much better, friend. 
> 
> And, of course, to my partner-in-crime and co-mod, A_Diamond, without whom I would be as lost as Castiel and Dean in this fic.

Dean leans low in the saddle, gripping the reins with tight fists. Impala’s hooves thunder across the well-worn path, her black mane whipping in the breeze. Dean croons endearments and praise in her ear, and she responds with even more speed, never one to back down from a challenge.

Ahead, the trees are beginning to thin out. Dean twists in his saddle and risks a backwards glance, but there’s no sign of his pursuer. Smiling grimly to himself, he straightens back up as Impala reaches the last curve before the path emerges from the forest.

There’s a blur of motion to his left, and Dean lets out a sharp curse as a small grey form darts into the open space before him. He only has a glimpse of sunlight glinting off golden hair before a cloud of dust obscures his vision. Coughing, he steadies Impala with a hand on her neck, and she hesitates for a split-second before continuing.

As they emerge from the cover of the trees, Dean takes in the familiar surroundings: the fields of wheat and other crops, the orchards, and the small cluster of wooden houses that make up the village. On a gentle rise sits the castle of Anatiac, its towers gleaming in the midday sun. 

Impala clatters over the drawbridge, the green-coated guards snapping to attention as Dean passes. He doesn’t pause to acknowledge them beyond a lift of his hand, but he’ll face the consequences of that rudeness later. For now, there are more important matters to be dealt with.

He draws Impala to a halt inside the courtyard. The blur of grey that passed him earlier reveals itself to be a dainty dappled grey mare, who fixes Impala with what Dean swears is a condescending look. Impala snorts, tossing her head, and Dean clicks his tongue at her before letting his gaze swing to the mare’s owner.

Princess Claire of Anatiac stands with her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow raised expectantly. “Well?” she says, all haughty dignity on the surface, but there’s a familiar gleam of mischief in her blue eyes. “I believe I won.” Her lips twitch in a small smile. “Again.”

Sighing, Dean reaches into the purse at his belt and flips a small silver coin in her direction. “So you did,” he agrees. “I don’t know why you insist on these wagers, Your Highness. It’s not as though you need the money.”

Claire lets loose an entirely undignified snort. “And you do? You’re the best-paid royal guard in history, from what I’ve heard.”

“Only because watching over you is likely to send me to an early grave,” Dean shoots back.

“We can’t call it too early.” Claire purses her lips and shakes her head as she looks him up and down. “Thirty-five this year, isn’t it?”

Dean narrows his eyes and frowns at her, but that look lost its effectiveness on her long ago. Smiling brightly, Claire turns on her heel, her long blonde braids flying behind her. “I’m off to the baths, and then I thought maybe I would pay a visit to Dorothy down at the armoury.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Dean asks. He waits, but Claire just makes an impatient gesture at him. “The delegation from Dysland arrives this afternoon.”

Claire’s face goes pale under her tan. “Shit,” she says, then leaves the courtyard at a run.

Dean watches her go, chuckling. He’d assumed the whole point of their breakneck race through the forest was to distract Claire from the Dyslanders’ arrival, but either it had worked too well, or she hadn’t even been thinking of it when she’d suggested the ride. Dean, however, has been well aware of the occasion since he woke this morning. 

Squinting up at the position of the sun in the sky, he decides he has time for a brief visit to the barracks before washing and making himself presentable for court. Allowing one of the grooms to take Claire’s mare, he leads Impala to the stables, brushing her down himself despite numerous offers of assistance from the stablehands. Once her coat is gleaming and her mane tangle-free, he feeds her an apple before kissing her on her nose and whispering goodbye.

The guards’ barracks are right beside the stables, so Dean doesn’t have far to go. He whistles as he crosses the open ground between them, lifting a hand in greeting to familiar faces.

Benny is lounging in a patch of sun, carefully fletching a bundle of arrows. Dean grabs one from the pile beside him and inspects it closely, letting out a low whistle as he does. “Impressive,” he comments. 

“They don’t just keep me around for my good looks,” Benny replies, barely glancing up. “Unlike some of us.”

Dean grins and strikes a pose, the gold trim on his green tunic shining in the light of the sun. “You’re just jealous because the Dyslander delegation is arriving today, and you know they’ll be too busy flirting with me to give you the time of day.”

Benny does look up then, laughter in his light blue eyes. “That’s today, is it? What are you doing down here with us common guards, then? Shouldn’t you be up in the tower making yourself pretty?”

“Prettier,” Dean corrects him. He shrugs, nudging Benny aside so he can sit beside him on the bench. “I will be. Soon. Just thought I’d drop by and check in on you lot first. Can’t have you embarrassing Anatiac in front of our noble guests.”

Benny drops his arrow, eyes wide in mock-horror. “Imagine the diplomatic nightmare we could cause, us rough unshaven common guards.”

Laughing, Dean closes his eyes and lets the sun’s rays warm his face. He’ll find a number of new freckles across his nose and cheeks, but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. “Then again, maybe some of the Dyslanders will like that. You might finally find yourself a girl.”

“Interesting advice.” There’s something sly in his voice, something that has Dean opening his eyes to look sidelong at his friend. “Maybe you should try it yourself. Might just be the shake-up a certain Dyslander royal bodyguard needs to see you in a new light.”

Dean scowls and punches Benny on the shoulder. Of course, it’s an impressively broad shoulder, thick with muscle, and probably hurts Dean more than it does him. “I don’t know why I bothered coming here,” he complains, rising to his feet. “If it was just to be abused like this.”

“Somebody needs to keep that ego of yours in check,” Benny replies. 

“Oh, the princess does enough of that, believe me.” Dean shakes his head, both exasperated and proud as he remembers the way Claire took advantage of her mount’s smaller stature to ride off the path and overtake him just at the end of their race. “I expected more sympathy from you.”

The teasing light dims from Benny’s eyes, leaving only fond concern. “How are you, really?” he asks. “I know these summers are far from your favourite time of year.”

Dean pushes his hair away from his forehead, grimacing at how sweaty the strands are. “Well, if all goes according to plan, this will be the last one.”

Benny presses his hand to his heart, then to his forehead, in the traditional prayer for a wish to be granted. Dean smiles, repeats the gesture, and turns to leave.

“Oh, and Dean?”

He turns back to see a wicked grin on Benny’s face. “Take a very thorough bath. Just in case.”

Cheeks burning, and not just from the heat of the sun, Dean nods sharply, Benny’s laughter ringing in his ears as he makes his way back to the palace.

An hour later, Dean paces the length of the small audience chamber where they await the Dyslander delegation. Claire is seated on the dais alongside her mother, looking surprisingly demure in a lavender gown with silver embroidery at the neck and hem. A delicate silver coronet sits on her hair, which has been braided and swept back from her face. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, and she looks the very picture of maidenly composure.

Only someone who has known her as long as Dean has would see the restlessness in her eyes.

He catches her attention and winks, turning his pacing into more of a strut. Claire rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile hovers around her lips.

Being Royal Protector isn’t only about keeping Claire safe. It’s also about keeping her happy, and Dean is willing to sacrifice his own dignity (if he had any to begin with) in order to do so. He’s about to start pulling exaggerated faces when he hears the faint echo of footsteps in the corridor and quickly straightens, his right hand coming to rest on the hilt of his ceremonial sword.

Two guards in brilliant sapphire tunics enter the room first, throwing crisp salutes towards the dais. Queen Amelia offers them a regal nod, then waves them aside with a gracious hand. After a slight pause, Lady Rowena and Lady Billie, the two regents, step forward. No matter how many times they’ve come to Anatiac over the years, Dean still finds himself slightly intimidated at the cool confidence they radiate. They dip respectful curtseys, which the queen and the princess accept with inclined heads. 

Finally, Prince Jack strolls into the room, beaming brightly. Dean isn’t sure he’s ever seen Jack without a smile on his face. There’s a noticeable bounce in his step as he crosses the room, and Dean glances at Claire and sees a genuine smile light up her face at his approach.

From behind the prince, there’s a low, discreet cough. Jack nearly stumbles as he remembers to bow, but judging from the amused look in Queen Amelia’s eyes, she’s inclined to forgive the lack of courtesy.

Claire steps lightly down from the dais and extends her hand to Jack. He kisses it, surprisingly gallant, and Dean reminds himself that the young prince will turn twenty-one in a few months' time. He’s not a boy anymore, despite his youthful appearance. 

Dean frowns as he watches Claire and Jack talk. The entire point of these summer visits has been to encourage a match between them, and with both of them reaching the age of majority this year, the level of scrutiny has only increased. He knows Claire enjoys spending time with Jack, but is it real romance, or just a long-standing friendship?

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t register someone coming to stand behind him until he sees their shadow move on the ground. Dean’s hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, instantly alert, but then a deep, familiar voice says, “Winchester.”

There’s only one person who insists on calling Dean by his family name. Only one person who could make it sound like such an insult. 

“Castiel,” he answers without turning his head. He relaxes his grip on his sword, but his shoulders creep up towards his ears, his back ramrod straight. 

Castiel Novak, his Dyslander counterpart. Sworn Royal Protector to Prince Jack, dedicated shadow, and deadly swordsman.

Also, the most unfairly attractive man Dean has ever met in his life.

The silence stretches out between them. Castiel’s attention is fixed on the dais, where the Anatiacians and their visitors are now enjoying a friendly chat. Jack is sprawled inelegantly on the steps, face bright as he makes wild gestures with his hands. Claire laughs, the musical sound ringing from the high ceilings of the hall, and Dean feels some nameless emotion rise in his chest. Something like pride, and something like the anticipation of pain to come.

He tears his gaze away from his charge and sneaks a sidelong glance at Castiel instead. Same dark hair, windswept from hours in the saddle. Same broad shoulders encased in a blue uniform with its gold braid, proclaiming his special status as Royal Protector. Same fine gold chain around his neck, disappearing under his shirt. Same firm jaw, though-- 

Dean narrows his eyes. “Is that a beard?” he whispers. “Or an attempt at one, at least?”

Same brilliant blue eyes, and the same disdain with which they always meet Dean’s. Castiel gives him a long look, then turns away again as though his comment isn’t even worth acknowledging.

Maybe this isn’t the most appropriate time and place to discuss Castiel’s new grooming habits (or lack thereof) but there’s little likelihood of anyone attempting an attack on their charges, not with both of them present and a handful of both Anatiacian and Dyslander guards scattered throughout the room.

Dean sighs noisily, shoulders slumping. Claire’s head lifts at the noise, and her lips twitch in a smile before she raises her hand to beckon him forward.

“You remember my guard Dean, of course,” she says.

Dean makes a formal bow to Jack first, then to Billie and Rowena. Jack beams at him and raises a hand in greeting, while Rowena offers a sly smile and Billie simply gives him a regal nod.

“Your Highness,” Dean says. “My ladies. Welcome back to Anatiac. If there is any service I can provide to you during your stay, I am at your disposal.”

Rowena’s smile widens. “A pretty speech,” she says approvingly. “I will be sure to remember your generous offer.”

“You promised to let me ride Impala this summer,” Prince Jack chimes in. His eyes shine in anticipation, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows to look Dean more directly in the face. “Can we visit the stables this afternoon?”

Before Dean can open his mouth to make a diplomatic reply-- which he is capable of doing, when the occasion demands it, despite rumours to the contrary-- Castiel cuts him off. 

“I believe there are other things planned for the rest of the day, Your Highness,” he says. “I’m sure Winchester can show you his horse another time.”

Dean shoots him a glare as Jack sighs in disappointment. Castiel is right, of course-- there will be a walk in the palace gardens, followed by a formal banquet in the evening-- but he could have been slightly less stiff in his words. And less utterly uninterested in Impala and her magnificence. Dean could forgive Castiel his disapproval of Jack’s eagerness, but not his dismissal of Dean’s horse.

“Another time soon,” Dean adds. He smiles as he says it, and throws Jack a subtle wink. The prince breaks into a delighted grin before quickly smoothing his features back into a neutral expression.

Poor kid, stuck with a humourless, etiquette-obsessed bore like Castiel. It’s not the first time Dean has had this thought. He knows he’s far from perfect, but at least he’s _fun_. He can’t picture Castiel letting Jack race him through the forest, or laying a wager on the outcome of that race. 

He can, however, picture how good Castiel looks in the saddle, those thick thighs spread across his horse’s back, strong hands holding tight to the reins--

Dean shakes his head, dislodging the unwelcome thoughts. The Dyslanders have spent summers in Anatiac for seven years now. For seven years, he’s had to put up with Castiel’s stony silences, his judgmental looks, his inability to crack a smile even in face of Jack’s cheerfulness. 

Dean’s chest feels tight again. As discreetly as possible, he stretches his shoulders, pulling the fabric of his tunic taut. It’s a new one, and he has been spending more time than usual on the practice fields with the other guards. Maybe he’s put on some extra muscle in the chest and shoulders. 

Castiel tilts his head in Dean’s direction, though he doesn’t meet his eyes. “Long night?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Or just getting old?”

Dean glares at him, stung. “If I remember correctly, you’re older than me.”

That gets Castiel’s attention. “By a year. And I can still manage to make it through a formal reception without shifting my weight like an old man.”

Dean offers him his sweetest smile. “Must be the other thing, then.”

To his satisfaction, a slight flush rises in Castiel’s cheeks. Judging by the way he purses his lips, though, it’s more likely rage than embarrassment. “You have no sense of tact.”

“You’re the one who mentioned it first,” Dean points out. He stretches again, deliberately this time, rolling his shoulders with a little sigh and shamelessly arching his back as he does.

He doesn’t fail to notice the way Castiel’s gaze traces the length of his spine before quickly darting back up to his face. Dean may be almost thirty-five, and an old man according to Claire, but he’s in peak physical condition and has never been shy about flaunting it. 

Most people he treats to this kind of show respond very differently than Castiel, though. 

With a pained sigh, Castiel turns back to the dais, effectively blocking Dean’s line of sight. “Excuse me,” Dean says. “I know you think I’m a miserable excuse for a guard, but at least give me a chance. I’d like to be able to keep an eye on my charge, please.”

Castiel angles his body ever so slightly, allowing Dean space to adjust his own position so he can see the dais. “Thank you,” Dean says with as much insincerity as he can manage, because Castiel might be an asshole but Dean’s mother raised him to be polite no matter what. Besides, he knows it winds Castiel up when Dean’s words and tone are so at odds with one another.

They’ve had seven years to perfect this little dance between them. Seven summers of standing around while Jack and Claire grow closer, both knowing the patterns of their lives will completely change if the young royals grow close enough to wed. Seven summers of enforced proximity, mutual impatience, and unfortunately for Dean, one-sided attraction. 

Apparently, seven years wasn’t long enough for him to learn his lesson. Letting out a deep breath, Dean sneaks another glance at Castiel’s proud figure and shakes his head. 

He did take Benny’s advice, and a very thorough bath, but it looks like it will be in vain.

Again.


	2. Chapter 2

After the initial festivities have passed, the summer begins in earnest. Claire goes about her daily routine mostly as usual, which means Dean does as well. The only difference is that Jack comes along with them, and with Jack comes Castiel. 

Dean manages to keep his promise to Jack within the first week of his visit. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and the young royals have spent most of their time within the palace grounds. When Claire emerges from her chambers with a particular gleam in her eyes, Dean knows exactly what she’s about to ask.

“Yes,” he says before she can open her mouth. “It would be a perfect day for a ride over to the Academy, wouldn’t it?”

Claire laughs as she digs an elbow into his side. Dean pretends to wince, though there’s no real force behind it and he barely feels the impact. “Ouch,” he whines. “If you want me to take you riding, you probably shouldn’t injure me.”

“But we’re riding to visit the best healers in the kingdom,” Claire replies. “Patience and her grandmother will take good care of you, I’m sure.”

Dean narrows his eyes at her. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Let’s go find the Dyslanders.”

Their visitors are housed in a separate wing of the palace, one that stands empty for three-quarters of the year. The suites there are almost as lavish as the royal apartments, another way of indicating Queen Amelia’s investment in this match. Other ruling families come to Anatiac for the occasional visit, sometimes bringing their children of an eligible age, but they’re never granted access to the Dyslander suites. 

Idly, Dean wonders what will happen to them once-- if-- Jack and Claire do marry, and these summer visits cease. There will likely still be frequent travel between the kingdoms--

He’s getting ahead of himself. Despite all the planning, all the careful scrutiny, there’s no formal betrothal between Jack and Claire. 

Not yet, anyways.

After winding through the twisting corridors of the palace, they arrive at their destination. Castiel is standing outside the door to Jack’s chambers, eyes narrowed as he watches Dean and Claire approach.

“Your Highness.” He sweeps a perfect bow to Claire, then gives Dean a cool nod as he straightens. “Winchester.”

“Hello, Castiel. Is Jack up yet?” Claire asks.

“He is, Your Highness. He should be ready--”

Castiel’s words are cut off as the chamber door flies open, nearly striking him in the back. Dean bites back a laugh at the look of surprise that flashes across Castiel’s face before it settles back into its usual impassive lines.

“Hello!” Jack says as he tumbles out through the door. “Did I keep you waiting? I’m sorry, I was feeding one of the birds that came to visit my balcony.”

Sometimes, Dean wonders how Jack can possibly be so cheerful all the time. Especially considering his own history-- his mother dying in childbirth and his father not long afterwards, being raised with all the expectations of the crown on his shoulders. Nothing seems to faze him, though, not even the way Claire breaks into delighted laughter at his explanation.

“Jack,” she says, shaking her head, “there’s no one else quite like you in any of the kingdoms, is there?”

She slips her arm through his and tugs him forward, Dean and Castiel falling into step behind them. “No, I don’t think so,” Jack replies, giving the question more consideration than expected. “We’re all unique people, with unique sensibilities and personalities and preferences. We might be similar to others in some regards, but there will always be something that sets us apart.”

“A philosopher king in the making,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Castiel turns towards him but doesn’t break stride. “It’s not such a bad thing, to have a mind. And to use it.”

Dean practically screeches to a stop, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. “Are you saying Claire doesn’t?”

To his credit, Castiel immediately holds up his hands, his face going pale. “No. Of course not. I would never insult the princess, and I’ve never been given cause to.”

“Oh.” Dean relaxes and starts walking again. If Castiel wasn’t talking about Claire, then--

“You meant me,” he says. 

Castiel doesn’t answer, but there’s a particular set to his jaw (visible even under the fine layer of scruff) that tells Dean what he needs to know.

“That’s fine, then,” Dean continues. “You can insult me all you like. But if you say one nasty thing about Claire, or even think it--”

“Winchester.” The firmness in Castiel’s voice is enough to silence Dean. “Shut up.”

Dean does as he’s told. 

When they reach the stables, Dean turns to Jack with a wide grin. “Still want to ride Impala, Your Highness?”

“Can I?” Jack breathes, eyes shining. Dean nods, but Jack is already looking past him. “Can I, Castiel?”

Dean draws in a deep breath, ready to present his arguments as to why it’s perfectly safe for Jack to ride Impala despite her occasional fiery temper, but they aren’t necessary. “Of course,” Castiel says, voice softer than Dean has ever heard it. “I know how much you’ve been looking forward to this.”

Dean turns to look at him, shocked at his easy approval, and sees Castiel hold up a cautionary hand. “No galloping, though.”

“Boring,” Claire declares as she leads her mount towards them. 

“Safe,” Dean corrects her. “Besides, it’s a beautiful day. We can ride at a lazy pace, have lunch at the Academy, and not look like total hellions in front of all those calm, serene scholars and healers.”

Claire tosses her head as she swings up into her saddle, but doesn’t push back, so Dean counts that as a win. He holds Impala steady while Jack mounts up, fixing her with a stern stare. “You be nice,” he says into her ear. “We like the prince, alright?”

She prances slightly, but more as an adjustment to Jack’s lighter form in the saddle than as a precursor to any misbehavior. Satisfied, Dean pulls himself up into the saddle of a sweet-tempered chestnut gelding and leads the way out of the stables.

Once they’re out on the open road that winds its way down from the castle and towards the Academy, Castiel urges his horse forward and overtakes Dean. “I’ll keep watch ahead,” he says, curt as ever. “You take the rear guard.”

It’s a sensible plan, splitting them up, but Dean doesn’t know why Castiel has decided he needs to be out in front. For once in his life, though, he doesn’t argue. From the rear, he can observe Jack and Claire more carefully.

“Fine,” he replies. He pulls his horse to a stop and waits for the young royals to pass him by, then falls into position behind them.

Of course, this arrangement also means that Dean can watch Castiel. He can’t see his face, but he can see the proud set of his shoulders, the way his head turns at the slightest sound, the way his solid torso narrows to a surprisingly trim waist and--

Dean drags his gaze away from Castiel’s backside and focuses on Claire and Jack. They’re riding close together, their voices lowered, but he occasionally catches a partial comment or a laugh from one of them. There’s nothing obviously romantic in the way they look at each other, but they’ve both had a great deal of practice keeping their emotions controlled. It’s practically the first lesson any royal learns. 

They make an interesting pair, Jack’s sunny good nature and Claire’s lightning-fast mood changes. They’re both so young, but with so much potential. And it would be good to see Claire with someone to balance her out. 

Before long, they catch sight of the Royal Academy, its high towers appearing around a bend in the road. Claire casts a mischievous look at Dean over her shoulder, and before he can protest, she’s nudged her mare into a gallop.

“Damn it,” Dean swears. He urges his own horse forward, but the gelding doesn’t have Impala’s speed, and he can’t catch up to Claire. He hears Jack shout after him, but ignores it. Castiel will stick with him, and they’re within sight of the Academy’s gates. Dean’s duty is, as always, to Claire first.

He’s still a fair distance behind Claire when he hears the thud of hooves behind him. Twisting in his saddle, he sees Jack and Impala fly past, Jack whooping in delight as she races at her full speed. Dean curses again and tries to coax more energy from his gelding, but he’s just no match for Impala.

Neither is Castiel’s horse, apparently. The black gelding with the white star on his nose catches up to Dean, but doesn’t outpace him. They ride neck and neck towards the Academy, eyes fixed on their charges, and when Dean glances over at Castiel, he sees his own worries reflected back at him.

“What the hell was that?” Dean demands as he clatters into the courtyard. Claire has already dismounted, grinning at him from over her horse’s shoulder. 

“Oh, come on.” Claire doesn’t look the least bit sorry for her impulsiveness. “It was a flat stretch of road, and there was no one in sight. Poor Orchid had to stretch herself at least a little bit.”

Jack is still astride Impala, crooning softly into her ear. Castiel swings down from his saddle and crosses over to him, speaking too low and quick for Dean to overhear.

“It was reckless,” he tells Claire. “Did you and Prince Jack plan this?”

Claire immediately shakes her head. “No. It was my idea. Jack just”-- she shrugs-- “followed along.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, both exasperated and oddly proud. She might be an impulsive hellion, but Claire has her own sense of honour. 

“Everyone’s fine,” Claire says, placing a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Yes you will,” Dean grumbles, but he’s already starting to relax. 

Claire gives him a swift smile before turning to Jack. “You were amazing. Even with my head start, you and Impala almost caught up to me.”

“It was all her.” Jack pats Impala’s neck and grins up at her. “I just had to stay in the saddle and she did the rest.”

“Winchester.” Castiel is at Dean’s side, eyes dark. “A word, if you please.”

Dean glances around the courtyard. Some of the scholars have stopped to make their bows and curtsies to Jack and Claire, who are still reliving the glories of their brief wild ride. They’re safe here, so he steps to the side and raises one eyebrow in expectation.

“What?”

“You will ride your own horse on the way back,” Castiel says tightly. It’s clear he expects to be obeyed without question, which, naturally, makes Dean want to do the exact opposite. “I will not have Jack at risk again because you cannot control your charge.”

“This is my fault?” Dean laughs, pushing a hand through his hair. “Oh, that’s rich.” He shakes his head, eyes narrowed. “I’ll ride Impala home, fine. We’ll have a nice, sedate trip. But I’ll also remind you that Impala is a perfectly-trained warhorse, and she doesn’t break into a gallop just because she feels like it.” He grins at the way Castiel’s face tightens. “Maybe you should consider whether or not you can control your own charge before you start sneering at me.”

Head held high, Dean catches up to Jack and Claire and guides them towards the Academy’s main hall. “Come on. Let’s find your friends.”

He doesn’t look back to see if Castiel is following.

Once inside, they’re immediately greeted by a swarm of young people. Dean recognizes most of them from other visits, and he’s pleased to see the genuine warmth with which Jack is welcomed. It’s good for him to have these connections if he will be king here one day. 

“You don’t look like you’re in need of a healing,” an amused voice says.

Dean turns to smile at Mistress Moseley, the chief healer of Anatiac and Headmistress of the Royal Academy. “The princess does have unnaturally sharp elbows, but I think my skin is tough enough to survive her blows.”

Missouri laughs and prods his side with gentle fingers. Dean doesn’t wince, and she nods, evidently satisfied. “I’m sure you gave her good reason.”

He can’t really argue with that, so Dean just shrugs. “How are you? Have you perfected your cure for alcohol-induced headaches yet?”

“Not quite.” Missouri tilts her head to the side, eyes dancing. “Are you volunteering as a test subject for the latest recipe?”

“Drinking on duty? Never.” Dean presses a dramatic hand to his chest. “I will tell some of the other guards, though. I’m sure they’d be all too happy to assist you.”

“I’m sure,” Missouri agrees. “I’ll send my granddaughter back to the palace with you, shall I? She can make a list of volunteers.”

“Claire would love that.” Dean cranes his neck, but he can’t see Patience in the crowd gathered around Jack and Claire. “Where is she, by the way? I thought she would be happy to see the princess.”

“Up to her nose in books, as always.” Missouri sighs, though there’s nothing but pride in her tone. “The princess may have to go fetch her from the library.”

Dean nods and lifts a hand in farewell, then politely edges through the cluster of people until he reaches Claire’s side. “Patience is in the library, apparently, if you want to go find her.”

Jack immediately swings his head in their direction. “Patience?” he asks eagerly. “Yes, please, it’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

“To the library, then.” Dean smiles politely at the scholars and healers as he carefully maneuvers around them. “Prince Jack and Princess Claire will be back, don’t worry,” he assures them.

“Wait,” Jack says once they’re clear of the crowd. “Where’s Castiel?”

Dean stops in his tracks, frowning. They were arguing outside, he got the last word for once, and then--

Scanning the area, Dean catches sight of a familiar dark head back in the entrance chamber. “Wait here,” he tells Jack and Claire, then jogs over to where Castiel is standing, arms crossed behind his back as he stares up at the portrait on the wall.

A familiar lump rises in Dean’s throat as he looks up at King James’ face. Beloved monarch, founder of this academy, father to Claire-- and the man whose life Dean’s father died saving. 

King James was in his prime, more than capable of looking after himself, but when that boar charged at him during a hunt, John Winchester threw himself into its path without a second thought. The king brought him back to the castle on his own horse, but John only lived long enough to see his wife and sons one last time before he died. 

King James lived another five years before a winter chill stole his life. Even if he had survived the boar’s attack, John Winchester wouldn’t have been able to save him from that. 

Dean drags his mind out of the past and back to the present. He glances between Castiel and the portrait, marveling at the uncanny resemblance between them. It’s something he noticed the first time he met Castiel, of course, and a frequent topic of gossip among the Anatiacians. 

There’s a strange look on Castiel’s face, one that Dean can’t interpret. He’s tempted to ask what Castiel is thinking, why he’s staring at the portrait so intensely, but he has some tact. It’s clearly a delicate matter, and a private one, and Dean really doesn’t need to give Castiel any more reasons to dislike him.

So he clears his throat and says, “We’re headed up to the library, if you care to join us,” as neutrally as he can.

Castiel blinks at him, clearly startled, but recovers quickly. “Yes, of course.” He squares his shoulders and strides off towards Jack and Claire, leaving Dean to frown at his back before hurrying to catch up.


	3. Chapter 3

Before Dean knows it, an entire month has passed. He and Castiel have settled into a wary truce after that day at the Academy, which they’re only able to maintain by ignoring each other as much as possible.

Fortunately, Claire and Jack don’t need them to hover too closely. They spend most of their days in the gardens, or at their lessons, or going for (sedate) rides around the countryside. Dean and Castiel accompany them, of course, but there’s no danger in any of those activities, so Dean mostly spends his time lounging against walls and keeping a lazy eye on Claire while cataloguing every interaction between her and Jack. 

It’s just logical for him and Castiel to stand on opposite sides of the room. And if Dean’s eyes stray frequently in Castiel’s direction, well, it’s only because he’s continually scanning the room for potential threats. 

As the temperature climbs higher, so does the anticipation surrounding the Midsummer Ball. Every year, it’s the peak of the social season, but this year it has more significance than ever. If Claire and Jack are going to be betrothed, the ball would be the perfect time for it to be announced. 

One day, about a week before the ball, Dean knocks on the door connecting his chambers to Claire’s. He can hear her moving on the other side of the door, but she doesn’t immediately open it, or shout out an impatient reply like she normally does.

“Claire?” Dean’s hand hovers above his sword. “Is everything alright?”

The door opens a crack, just enough for Dean to see Claire’s untidy hair and comfortable old dressing gown. “Yes, everything’s fine.” She smiles, but Dean knows her well enough to see that it’s strained. “Will you send Charlie to me, though, please?”

“Oh.” Dean nods quickly. “Of course, Your Highness.”

While it’s not at all uncommon for a Royal Protector to be of a different gender than their charge, it can create the occasional awkwardness. Dean will never forget the panic he felt on the day of Claire’s first monthly bleeding, noticing the small red spot on her gown and wondering how she could have injured herself without him noticing. By now, it’s an old joke between them, but there are still times when Claire asks for Charlie, one of the Royal Guards, to accompany her rather than Dean.

Fortunately, Dean trusts Charlie completely. It worries him to be away from Claire, but if he has to leave her with anyone else, he’s glad it’s Charlie.

Dean hurries through the palace to the barracks. Thankfully, Charlie is already awake, eating her breakfast in the meal hall while arm-wrestling a guard Dean doesn’t recognize.

“Come on, kiddo,” he says. “Stop giving this guy false hope and put him out of his misery. The princess is asking for you.”

Charlie glances up, and even distracted, manages to slam her opponent’s arm down onto the table. She grins up at Dean as the other guard curses under his breath. “How exciting! Any idea what for?”

“No.” Dean slings an arm around her shoulders and guides her out of the hall. “Girl stuff, I guess.”

She rolls her eyes at him as they cross the open ground between the barracks and the castle proper. “You’re just jealous.”

“Maybe,” Dean admits. “But it also means I can go back to bed.”

He doesn’t, of course. After he leaves Charlie at Claire’s rooms, he wanders down to the kitchens and charms the attendants into sneaking him an apple tart and a cup of strong tea, then takes them outside to enjoy in the sunshine. From his position at the foot of the tallest tower, he watches as Charlie and Claire emerge, dressed for riding, and head for the stables.

“Don’t let her get off the path!” he yells to Charlie. “She’ll sneak around you and cut you off when the road opens up.”

Charlie raises her hand in a salute, and even at a distance, Dean can see the scowl Claire aims in his direction. 

He isn’t entirely sure why Claire prefers Charlie’s company for a simple ride through the forest, which she and Dean do often enough. Unless, of course, it has something to do with Jack, something she isn’t comfortable discussing with Dean--

Scowling, Dean finishes the last of his tea and apple tart. He has a sudden need to hit something, and hard.

There are plenty of willing sparring partners hanging around the barracks. Benny is out on patrol, but Victor is usually a good match for Dean, strong and surprisingly quick on his feet. Despite his grumpiness, Dean doesn’t really think it’s fair of him to take out his messy feelings on a friend, so he turns down Victor’s offer to wrestle with a shake of his head.

The clack of wooden swords draws his attention, and he looks over to a corner of the training grounds to see Castiel and Jack circling each other, practice blades at the ready. Dean sticks his hands in the pockets of his tunic and watches them, frowning.

Castiel is good, there’s no doubt about it. He might even be better than Dean, though they’ve never tested their skills against one another. He’s both precise and graceful in his movements, making even the most complicated footwork look as easy as taking a single step forward.

Jack is less assured. He moves through the patterns well enough, as anyone trained by Castiel would, but Dean can see the frown of concentration on his face. It’s clear he doesn’t particularly enjoy swordplay, but he works doggedly at it, as is expected of a prince.

Dean strolls across the open space, still watching the bout closely. Jack’s guard slips, just for a second, and--

Castiel’s sword sneaks through and comes to rest at Jack’s chest. “Again?” he asks.

Jack sighs, shoulders slumping. Dean is struck by a sudden wave of pity for him, and since he has nothing better to do, steps forward. “Maybe you can switch to something more to the prince’s liking.”

Twisting to look at Dean over his shoulder, Jack’s expression brightens. “Hello!” He pauses, looking around before turning back to Dean. “Princess Claire isn’t with you?”

Dean shakes his head. “She wanted a quiet ride with another of the guards this morning.”

“Oh.” Jack looks disappointed, but not totally crushed. “Will you practice with us, then?”

Castiel makes a slight noise, and Dean turns to him, grinning. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

There’s no way Castiel can retract an invitation that the prince extended, and they both know it. He nods stiffly, lowering his sword as Dean turns back to Jack and raises an expectant brow. “You’re not bad with a blade, but I can see it’s not your real passion. What is? Wrestling?” He doubts it, considering Jack’s slight build, but he’s been surprised before. “Daggers?”

“Archery,” Jack replies, casting a swift look in Castiel’s direction.

Dean files that look away for future consideration, then jerks his thumb towards the barracks. “My friend Benny was working on some new arrows not too long ago. Shall we go see if there are any left?”

Jack nods eagerly, and Dean can’t help but feel his earlier sour mood lifting. The prince is just so _earnest_. It should be exhausting, really, but it manages to be endearing instead. 

Victor finds them some of Benny’s arrows, and they set up at the archery range. Jack is good. Quite good, in fact. He takes his time to aim, but there’s an ease to his movements that was lacking when he had a sword in his hand. There’s also a grin splitting his face from ear to ear, and he lets out a small whoop when his first arrow hits the target dead centre.

Castiel is standing with his arms crossed, wooden sword abandoned and a distant look on his face.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t something the prince is allowed to do often?” Dean asks, keeping his voice low. Castiel’s jaw tightens immediately, but before he can launch into one of his usual tirades, Dean holds up his hands to ward it off. “I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m just curious.”

It takes Castiel a few moments to answer, his gaze focused on Jack as he sends arrow after arrow speeding towards the target. “You know that his father was-- well, to put it mildly, not well-loved by his people.”

Dean winces, remembering some of the stories he heard of King Lucien. “Yes.”

“The old king loved archery. He used to organize yearly competitions and reward the victors richly, but those who were less successful were humiliated and ridiculed for their loss.” Castiel shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. “Obviously, archery is much less frequently practiced in Dysland these days.” He sighs, and for a moment his eyes look so sad Dean almost reaches out to lay a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “Jack loves it, though he’s aware of the associations most of his people have with it.” Looking over at Dean, he inclines his head. “Thank you for this. It’s good to see him so happy.”

“Right,” Dean says gruffly. He never thought he’d seen Jack unhappy, but maybe there’s more beneath that cheerful exterior than Dean realized. “Of course.”

They stand in surprisingly comfortable silence, watching as Jack slowly empties the quiver of arrows, until Charlie and Claire come riding back through the gate and Jack abandons his practice in favour of listening to Claire recount her victory in her race against Charlie.

Midsummer dawns bright and clear, with a fresh breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers across the palace grounds. Dean breathes a sigh of relief as he rolls over in his bed and glances out the window. For almost everyone in the palace, this is one of the busiest days of the year, but for the royal family, there’s little to do except wait around until it’s time to be dressed and make their grand entrance.

In the past, Dean has distracted Claire with visits to her friends at the Academy, but since Patience has been living with them at the palace for some time now, there’s less temptation there. It’s not Dean’s job to decide what to do, though. His job is to follow along wherever Claire chooses to go.

He knocks on the door that separates their rooms, and takes an instinctive step back when Claire flings it open and pokes her head around the frame. “Sorry,” she says, grinning. “Happy Midsummer, Dean.”

Dean makes her a crisp bow. “Happy Midsummer, Your Highness.”

Claire flaps her hand at him. “Save the formality for the ball. Patience had the most wonderful idea last night: instead of my usual crown, I’m going to wear a circlet of wildflowers tonight.”

She looks expectantly at Dean. He blinks at her, not sure how to respond. “That sounds pretty.”

With a deep sigh, Claire shakes her head. “We have to gather them today. So get your riding leathers on, Dean. We’re going flower picking.”

Honestly, it sounds quite pleasant. Dean throws her a sharp salute. “Five minutes, my lady.”

They meet in the corridor outside their chambers in four and a half. Claire is dressed far more casually than she normally would be, but Dean refrains from commenting. She’ll be polished and poised enough this evening. 

Claire immediately dashes toward the main staircase, but Dean hesitates. “Are we not inviting Prince Jack to join us?”

Claire looks back over her shoulder and shakes her head. “No, he has his own preparations to make.”

“Ominous,” Dean mutters under his breath as he lengthens his stride to catch up. 

They spend almost the entire day riding around the countryside. Claire has very specific flowers in mind, apparently to match her gown, and she requires a great number of them. “In case I mess up one crown, I need to be able to make another,” she explains.

Dean, who has little experience weaving flower crowns, shrugs and continues placing the flowers Claire hands him into his saddlebags. “At this rate, you could make a crown for every lady of the court. And anyone else who wanted one, of course.”

Claire grins at him over her shoulder as she plucks more of the small purple blooms. “Are you saying you want one?”

She looks so happy, out here in the fields in an old smock over loose leggings, gathering flowers like some normal country girl. Her face is shaded by a floppy straw hat, but she’s already tanned and freckled from their usual rides, just as Dean is. 

She doesn’t look like a princess about to make the greatest match in the history of the land. She just looks like Claire, the girl Dean has protected for sixteen years, the girl he’s watched grow up with pride and awe. 

“Are you going to marry Jack?” he blurts out. 

Claire goes still. She puts down the flower she’s holding and turns towards him, face set in the perfect neutral expression she’s perfected over years of court audiences. “I really don’t believe that’s any of your business, Winchester.”

More than her tone or the look on her face, it’s the way she addresses him that hits Dean like a punch to the gut. She hasn’t called him Winchester in years. It’s always Dean. 

The sun must have gotten to his head. It’s the only explanation for how badly he misstepped. Dean drops into his deepest bow and holds it, not raising his head as he speaks. “My deepest apologies, Your Highness.”

“It is forgotten,” Claire says, but there’s an edge to her tone that tells Dean it most certainly isn’t.

They pass another half an hour picking flowers, but Claire doesn’t say another word to him.

When they arrive back at the palace, Dean trails through the corridors after her, cheeks burning with shame. She pauses at her chamber door and looks back at him. “I will not be requiring your services until it is time to leave for the ball.”

“Yes, my lady.” Dean bows again, and by the time he straightens up, Claire has slammed her door shut behind her. 

With nothing else to do, Dean paces around his room, muttering angrily to himself. An attendant brings him a light supper, and he manages to smile graciously at the boy despite his sour mood. Soon enough, it’s time to bathe and shave and make himself presentable for the ball. As a guard, he’s expected to be in uniform at all times, so he doesn’t need to waste time deciding on an outfit. He does glance at himself in the mirror before leaving, imagining a crown of flowers on his head, and scowls at his reflection. “This is your own fault,” he says. 

Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door to Claire’s room. “Your Highness?” he calls. “It’s time to leave for the ball.”

There’s no answer. Dean knocks again, waits, and frowns at the solid wood of the door. 

Exiting his room through the main door, Dean glances down the corridor. He can see another guard further down the hall, but no sign of Claire. “Your Highness?” he says again, knocking on the main door this time. He chews on his lower lip, wondering if he should enter without being invited. It’s a breach of the trust he and Claire have established, but considering how spectacularly Dean has already fucked up today, he’s not sure he can possibly make it worse.

He pushes the door open slowly, half-expecting a shriek of outrage from Claire. Instead, he’s greeted with silence. Her chambers are empty other than the contents of her wardrobe scattered over every surface and the flower petals littering the floor.

Dean bites back a smile. She’s always a bit of a hurricane while getting ready for a ball. Satisfied, he leaves Claire’s chambers and heads towards the ballroom. Either she called Charlie to escort her, or she went on her own to punish Dean for his rudeness earlier.

He slips into the ballroom quietly, eyes passing over the crowds of richly-dressed guests in search of a familiar head of blonde hair.

A heavy hand settles on his shoulder and Dean twists away instinctively, raising his other arm for a punch. “Easy,” Castiel says. “It’s just me.

Relaxing, Dean scowls at him. “You should know better than to lay a hand on a guard like that.”

“I know, I was just”-- Castiel clenches his jaw-- “distracted.” He looks around the room, his posture radiating tension. “Have you seen Jack?”

“What?” Dean cranes his neck to get a glimpse of the dais, but sees only Queen Amelia and the ladies Billie and Rowena there. “No. I’ve been looking for Claire.”

They stare at one another for a split-second before the realization hits: somehow, both their charges have slipped past them.

“You go left, I’ll go right.” Now is not the time for Dean to argue with the firmness in Castiel’s voice. “Meet back here.”

Dean nods and starts pushing his way past the guests, scanning the room as discreetly as he can. He completes a circuit of the ballroom, but sees no sign of either Jack or Claire. 

Castiel wears a grim expression as he circles back towards Dean. “They’re not here.”

Exhaling deeply, Dean scrubs his hands through his hair. “We’re overreacting, right? Everyone is expecting Jack to propose tonight. They probably snuck away for a private moment together, and they’ll come back in, hand-in-hand, and announce their betrothal.”

“I certainly hope so.” He’s never heard Castiel’s voice so quiet, or so sincere. “But just in case--”

Dean sighs. “I’ll go to the gardens. Try the library, maybe? They’ve spent a lot of time together there over the years.”

“I’ll meet you back in the courtyard.”

The gardens are lit with lanterns, but the paths are empty with everyone gathered in the ballroom. Dean hurries around each corner, hoping to find Claire and Jack at every turn, but with no luck.

Swearing under his breath, he returns to the courtyard and paces back and forth as he waits for Castiel. He doesn’t want to raise the general alarm, not yet. This could all still be a misunderstanding, Claire and Jack could still stroll out of hiding at any minute--

Footsteps approach, and Dean’s head snaps up. Castiel is hurrying towards him, but Dean’s heart sinks in his chest when he realizes he’s alone. He sees the disappointment flash across Castiel’s face as he takes in Dean standing by himself, and Dean steps forward, voice breaking. “No?”

Slowly, Castiel shakes his head. “No.” He draws in a shuddering breath and meets Dean’s eyes, confusion and concern warring in their depths. 

“They’re gone.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean enters the ballroom quietly. He smiles and nods at everyone he passes, but doesn’t stop as he makes his way toward the dais. Towards Queen Amelia, who is watching his approach with a polite but puzzled smile. 

“May I have a word, Your Majesty?” Dean murmurs once he’s close enough to be heard.

“Of course.” The queen waves him forward, and Dean crouches beside her throne. 

There’s no easy way to say this. “Your Majesty, Princess Claire has disappeared.”

Amelia has been queen of Anatiac for nearly twenty-five years. Before that, she was raised the eldest daughter of a prosperous landowner. Dignity is bred into every bone in her body.

The only sign she gives of her composure breaking is her hands tightening on the arms of her throne. Hating himself for delivering this news, Dean continues. “Prince Jack has also vanished.”

Queen Amelia casts a quick look at Billie and Rowena, who are observing their whispered conversation with interest. “Did they leave voluntarily?”

Dean closes his eyes, remembering the chaos of Claire’s room. “Your Majesty, I cannot say.”

“Very well.” With a sharp nod, the queen sits up straight on her throne. “You will go to the barracks and assemble the full force of the guard. I will make the announcement to those assembled here, and the guards off-duty will join us there presently.” Her voice turns to pure steel. “We will not rest until my daughter and the prince are safely home.”

“Majesty.” Dean rises from his crouch and bows deeply, but the queen’s voice stops him.

“She is alive.” Her knuckles are white against the gold of her throne. “My daughter is alive, and we will find her.”

Dean bows again and leaves the hall, feeling the weight of curious eyes on his back as he does.

Castiel is waiting for him in the antechamber. They’d agreed that going in together would be too conspicuous, and the last thing they’d wanted was to start a panic. He raises one eyebrow at Dean’s approach but quickly falls into step beside him.

“The queen will make an announcement, and she wants us to gather the guards,” Dean explains, answering Castiel’s unasked question. “Your people, are they in the barracks or at the ball?”

“Both.” Castiel passes Dean and pushes open the heavy door leading out into the courtyard. “But there aren’t many of them, and no particularly skilled trackers. If I send a rider back to Dysland--”

“No.” Dean shakes his head. “It will take too long. Send a rider, by all means, and have patrols leave from your castle. But we can’t wait for them to join us here before we do the same.”

He can see the struggle behind Castiel’s eyes, but eventually he shrugs in resignation. “Fine.”

Things move quickly after that. The guards assemble, the queen emerges from the castle with Billie and Rowena at her side, and though her voice trembles, she stands tall as she delivers the news. “I am asking every one of you, not as a queen but as a mother, to bring my daughter home,” she concludes. “I leave the organization of the search parties in the hands of the Royal Protector.” She glances at Dean and gives him a small nod. “Let it also be known that neither his competence nor his loyalty are in any way in doubt.”

Dean bows, moved by her declaration of trust, and the queen sweeps out of the courtyard again. “Right,” Dean says, raising his voice. “We’ll move faster in smaller groups. I want no more than four in a party, Anatiacian and Dyslander together where possible. Rider groups along all the main roads, splitting off at crossroads to cover more ground.”

He turns to Castiel, who stands quietly at his side. “The Royal Protector of Dysland will divide his people. The rest of you, form a line, and I’ll split you into your groups. Travel fast and light.” He swallows roughly, looking out over the crowd of familiar faces all wearing the same expression of mixed concern and eagerness. “Make me proud. Make Anatiac proud.”

As Dean begins to sort his troops into smaller groups, Castiel does the same, adding at least two Dyslanders to each party. Soon, the courtyard is empty as the guards move out to pack their supplies and begin the search. 

“I’ll ride to Dysland myself.” Castiel’s voice breaks the strange silence in the courtyard, and Dean swings to face him, startled. “I can carry word back to my people there, and lead the effort from the other side of the forest.”

“No.” They both turn at the voice, and Billie emerges from the shadows of the palace walls, Rowena silent and grave at her side. “You are needed here, Lord Protector. We will take the news to Dysland and see to the organization of our guards.”

“But--”

Rowena raises a hand, and Castiel falls silent. Despite the tension, a small smile springs to Dean’s lips. He’s never seen Castiel silenced so effectively. 

“No one knows the prince better than you, Castiel.” She glances at Dean, and a shiver creeps down his spine. “Nor the princess better than you. The two of you have your part to play in this, and it begins here.” She gestures to the castle looming above them. “There are questions that need answering.”

Dean frowns, but before he can protest, Castiel bows. “Yes, my lady.”

A slight smile crosses Rowena’s face, and she lifts a hand to rest it on Castiel’s shoulder. “You will see this done,” she says, with a confidence Dean doesn’t share. “Come, Billie. We ride for home.”

Lady Billie casts an inscrutable look over her shoulder at Dean and Castiel as she follows Rowena towards the stables, but offers no further advice. Once they’ve gone, Dean turns back to Castiel, who is staring up at the castle with narrowed eyes.

“What did she mean?” Dean asks. “About questions that need answering.”

Castiel meets his eyes, and there’s a new spark of determination in his gaze. “It means our search begins right here.”

A small number of household guards have returned to the palace, at Dean’s orders, to protect the queen and the rest of the court. If Claire and Jack’s disappearance is part of some larger plot, Dean isn’t about to leave the castle entirely undefended.

They find Garth and Tamara at opposite ends of the corridor that leads to Claire’s chambers. Snapping to attention at Dean and Castiel’s approach, they make crisp salutes, eyes wide with anticipation. “Has she been found?” Tamara asks eagerly.

Dean opens his mouth, but no words emerge. Castiel throws him a quick look before answering for him. “No. We’ve mobilized the guard, with the exception of a skeleton crew including the two of you remaining here to protect the queen and the castle. Winchester and I will be joining the search shortly, but first--” his eyes sweep slowly over Garth and Tamara, his jaw clenching-- “we have a few questions for you both.”

“Of course, sir.” Garth’s tone is more somber than Dean has ever heard it, and it’s enough to bring his focus back to the matter at hand.

“You were on duty here all day,” he says. He keeps his own voice even, no hint of disappointment or accusation. He trusts all of the guards entirely, and he won’t let this disappearance create more unrest and unease. “The princess and I returned from our ride late in the afternoon. Did either of you see her after that?”

“No, sir.” Tamara shakes her head firmly. “As you said, we saw you return with the princess. You entered your own chambers, and we saw you emerge a few hours later to leave for the ball. We never saw the princess.”

“And no one else came through here?” Castiel asks quietly. “Not even Prince Jack?”

“No, sir,” Tamara repeats. “No one.”

Castiel turns to Dean, brow furrowed. “Is there any other exit from her chambers?”

“Only the connecting door to mine, and I was there the entire time.” Dean pauses, an image of Claire’s disordered room flashing through his mind. “Unless--”

He pushes open the door to Claire’s rooms and strides inside, ignoring the startled sound Castiel makes. Swiftly crossing the room, he throws open the doors to the balcony and peers over the edge.

He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he finds no sign of a rope or other way for Claire to have climbed down. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Castiel waiting on the other side of the open doors, a hopeful look in his eyes. Dean shakes his head and watches as the hope fades. 

“She can’t have just vanished!” Dean exclaims. He grips the stone balustrade, drawing in a deep breath. “This makes no sense.”

“Sir?” Garth has come up beside Castiel, looking at him with something like awe in his eyes. “A suggestion?”

“Yes, anything,” Castiel answers quickly. 

Dean takes one last look out at the view of the castle grounds and the surrounding countryside before retreating indoors to join them. “What is it, Garth?”

Garth swallows nervously before speaking. “It’s just a thought, sir. But I was surprised the princess stayed in her chamber alone the entire evening. I thought”-- another nervous swallow--”I thought surely Miss Patience would come help her get ready, the two of them being so close and all.”

Dean closes his eyes and lets out a muttered curse. How could he have been so stupid--

“Thank you, Garth,” he says, clapping him on the back. “If you think of anything else, anything at all--”

Garth nods and reaches out to grasp Dean’s shoulder. “I will, sir. Now bring our lady home.”

“Come on,” Castiel says, already edging towards the door. “We need to speak to Patience, now.”

His long legs cover the ground between the palace wings quickly, and still reeling from his own oversight, Dean struggles to keep up. He doesn’t question how Castiel knows exactly where Patience is staying-- she’s as much friends with Jack as she is with Claire, and it makes sense that Castiel would have escorted the prince here before.

Castiel stops in front of a plain wooden door and knocks sharply. There’s only a slight pause before it’s pulled open, revealing Patience’s worried face. Her eyes are dry, but they’re slightly red and puffy, and Dean’s throat goes tight at the way she looks at them, like she both expected and dreaded this visit. 

“Miss Turner,” Castiel begins, clasping his hands behind his back, “I suspect you know why we’re here.”

“I don’t know anything,” Patience whispers. “Please, sir, you have to believe me.” She looks at Dean, pleading. “I don’t know anything.”

“Neither the prince nor the princess ever mentioned anything to you?” Castiel asks. “Any plan to leave?”

“No.” Patience shakes her head. “Nothing. I saw them both yesterday, and we all talked about the ball. They both seemed so excited, so happy.” She trails off, her eyes filling with tears. “Why would they leave?”

Castiel starts to speak, but Dean cuts him off with a sharp gesture. Placing one hand on Patience’s elbow, he steers her to the small table and chair in front of the window. Guiding her into the seat, he leans against the table and slowly drops his hand from her arm.

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” he asks softly. “I know you don’t want to betray your friends’ confidence, and I respect that, Patience.” He breaks off, glancing up at Castiel. His lips are set in a tight line, but he nods. “But we have to consider the possibility that the princess and the prince didn’t leave voluntarily.”

“Was there anyone they had a feud with?” Castiel asks, voice toneless. “Anyone who might have wished them harm?”

Patience lets out a choked sob, but only one. Drawing in a shaky breath, she pushes her hair back from her face and meets Dean’s eyes. “No one,” she says. “Claire has a temper, and she fights with some of the students at the Academy on occasion.” A tremulous smile hovers around her lips. “She had a rocky relationship with Alex at the start, but now they’re almost as close as we are. And Jack”-- she shakes her head-- “how could anyone dislike him?”

Something flickers behind Castiel’s eyes, too quick for Dean to identify it. “And you didn’t see either of them today?”

“No.” Patience sweeps her hand over the pile of books and scrolls on her table. “I’ve been studying all day, because I knew I would sleep late tomorrow after the ball. Claire teased me about it, but she understood. She said she would see me at the ball, and we could surprise each other with our outfits.”

“Coincidence?” Dean murmurs to Castiel. 

Castiel shrugs, still watching Patience. “And Jack?”

A slight frown crosses Patience’s face. “He didn’t say much one way or the other. Just that he would see me later, and that he wished me luck with my studying.”

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing off from the table. “Castiel?” He jerks his head towards the other side of the room, and they withdraw enough that they won’t be overheard.

“Well?” Dean asks. “I believe her.”

“So do I.” Castiel doesn’t look happy about it, though. “But she’s told us nothing that will help us find them. We still don’t know if they left voluntarily, or if they were”-- a terrible pause-- “taken.”

Dean shoves aside the flood of horrible images that one word summons. “So what now? We just set out blindly and hope for the best?”

“Sir?” 

They turn to see Patience rise from her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “It might be nothing,” she says.

“Tell us,” Dean orders, heart racing in his chest.

“It was a few days after I came to stay at the palace. We were all in the garden. Claire had climbed up the willow tree and Jack and I were sitting underneath. We weren’t really talking, just quietly enjoying the day, and that’s when Claire said it.”

“Said what?” Dean and Castiel ask at the same time.

“She said that it was her favourite place in the palace grounds, because it reminded her of being out in the forest. That the forest was where she was happiest. Where she felt the most free.” Patience’s voice cracks on the last word. “It might be nothing,” she repeats. “But--”

“It might also be something,” Dean says quietly. “Thank you, Patience. If you want to return to the Academy, to be with Alex and your grandmother and--”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m staying right here until Claire and Jack return.” One corner of her mouth turns up in a small smile. “Until you bring them back.”

Dean bows slightly as he leaves the room, closing the chamber door after Castiel, who has been unusually quiet. It’s not until they’re several feet down the corridor that he explodes.

“If the princess ran off to the forest and dragged Jack along with her, I’ll--”

Dean stops and whirls to face him. “What? You’ll what?”

A muscle jumps in the side of Castiel’s jaw. Under other circumstances, Dean would be incredibly interested in how he could make that jaw flex, but not now. 

“I was going to say, I’ll have a strong word with him about his duty to his kingdom and his people,” Castiel says evenly. 

Dean’s anger dissipates instantly. “Oh.”

Castiel sighs, combing his hands through his hair. “I told you, I would never speak ill of the princess.”

“I know.” Dean looks away, his shame burning in his cheeks. “I just--”

“You’re worried.” 

He looks back up to meet Castiel’s eyes, to see the understanding there, the surprising sympathy. It shouldn’t be a surprise, not when Castiel is really the only person who could possibly understand the combination of worry, guilt, and anger clouding Dean’s mind. 

A wry smile twists Castiel’s lips. “So am I.” He shrugs loosely. “They’re not children anymore, I know that. If things had gone as expected, they might have been betrothed by now. But when I look at Jack, I still see someone I’ve watched grow up before my eyes. The thought of him in danger without me there--”

It’s the most approachable Dean has ever seen him look. He wants to reach out, not only for Castiel’s comfort but for his own, but something stops him.

Something he tries very hard not to think about.

Instead, he lets out a deep breath. “To the forest, then?”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “In the morning, we ride to the forest.”

“In the morning?” Dean repeats, incredulous. “Castiel, there’s no time to waste.”

Castiel shakes his head, something like disappointment in his eyes. “Winchester. It’s full dark already. Once we reach the trees, we won’t be able to see a thing. And we can’t go recklessly bringing torches into a forest.” He’s brusque, businesslike, all traces of softness vanished from his voice and bearing.

Dean narrows his eyes, his earlier sympathy for Castiel rapidly evaporating. “You want to wait? To let them get farther away from us?”

“Of course not,” Castiel snaps. “I want to saddle my horse and ride as fast as I can towards the forest, damn the consequences. But”-- he trails off, holding up his hands in a helpless gesture--”we’re no good to them exhausted or injured because we ran right into a tree trunk blundering around in the dark.”

Dean ignores that entirely. “If we’re careful with the torches--”

A muscle jumps in Castiel’s jaw. “Fine. You go right ahead. And when I find your princess, I’ll be sure to tell her how noble your sacrifice was, breaking your own neck in an effort to play the hero.”

“Play the hero?” Dean laughs, but it’s an ugly sound. “I’m not playing anything. I’m trying to do my duty. I thought that meant something to you. But maybe it’s all that matters, if you can just shrug off the very real people involved. I don’t know about you, but I care about Claire. I’m just sorry Jack isn’t so lucky in his protector.”

He doesn’t even see Castiel move. In an instant, Dean is pressed against the stone wall, Castiel’s forearm across his chest.

His eyes are nearly black with rage. “Don’t you dare,” he says, voice tight. “Don’t you _dare_ suggest your concern for Claire is any greater than mine for Jack.”

Dean tests his hold, squirming slightly. Castiel is pressed against him, his breath warm on Dean’s cheek, every well-developed muscle in his body taut with his anger. 

After a charged moment, Dean relaxes under Castiel’s arm and nods tersely. “Fine,” he says. “Now let go of me.”

Warily, Castiel steps back, arms dropping to rest at his side. “You aren’t going to do anything foolish, are you?”

“Like ride out of here on my own?” Dean raises one eyebrow at him. “The way you wanted to not so long ago?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but at least they’re not so angry anymore. “Yes. Though I will remind you that I was planning to ride a well-travelled road, not go traipsing off through the woods.”

Dean waves a dismissive hand at him. “It’ll be a bit more deliberate than that. We will be better off on foot, though.” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, considering. “Impala knows the way home. We ride hard, and leave the horses at the trees’ edge. They’ll make their way back to the castle.”

“Very well.” Castiel dips his head. “Before dawn, then. In the stables.”

He looks at Dean a moment longer, almost like there’s something else he wants to say, then turns sharply on his heel and strides away.

Dean watches him go, stroking one hand over his neck where his collar has been pulled aside by Castiel’s arm. Finally, when the sound of Castiel’s footsteps has faded, he pulls himself out of the tangled mess of his thoughts and heads for his own chamber.

He already knows it will be a sleepless night. He’ll lie awake, hoping to hear the creak of Claire’s door, hoping she’ll come to laugh at him for being so worried about her. Wondering if she’s warm enough, wherever she is, and if she’s still wearing the flower crown she wove for herself. 

If memories of the way Castiel’s body felt pressed against his occasionally intrude on his worries about Claire, well, at this point he’ll welcome the distraction.


	5. Chapter 5

The forest that divides Dysland from Anatiac is old, trees reaching far into the sky to block out the sunlight with their canopies. It’s also vast, with only the main road from east to west and one smaller path leading south to Nofenne cutting through it. To the north, the forest extends onto a remote, uninhabited peninsula. 

Dean isn’t entirely thrilled at the prospect of having only the trees and Castiel for company, but if that’s what it takes to bring Claire home, he’ll suffer through it.

It isn’t easy, turning Impala loose and sending her back towards the castle. The sun is just barely beginning to peek over the horizon, lightening the sky in the east. Dean rests his head against hers for a moment, inhaling deeply, before nudging her around towards the rising sun and making a soft clicking sound. “Go on, girl. Go on home.”

Well-trained as she is, she obeys.

A lump rising in his throat, Dean turns to Castiel, who has been waiting with surprising patience. “You have the flares?”

Castiel pats the pocket of the leather satchel slung over his shoulder. “Safe and dry.”

“Good.” If they find Claire and Jack in any sort of distress and need to escape quickly, they’ll be able to send up a signal that the mounted patrols along the edge of the forest should see. The crowded canopy of trees might complicate things, but they don’t have time to worry about that now. “Let’s go.”

The instant they step off the road and into the dense trees, the air grows colder and quieter. Dean has spent years riding through this forest with Claire, but he’s never felt this prickling unease. He shakes his head roughly, all too aware that it’s playing tricks on him, but keeps his eyes and ears sharp.

“They likely would have come this way.” Castiel’s voice is pitched low, thoughtful. “They could have ridden further north or south to throw us off their trail, but if their main goal was to escape unnoticed, it would have wasted precious time. So if we assume they rode straight west along the road, but then left it at the edge of the forest like we did--”

Dean had been thinking the same thing. “Which way would they have turned once they were sheltered by the trees? Also, what did they do with their horses?’

There’s a heavy pause. Dean twists to look at Castiel over his shoulder. He’s never seen him in anything other than his blue uniform, and he’s surprised at how well the greens and browns of their current attire suits him. He looks rougher, less polished, but no less competent than usual. 

“If they left of their own volition,” Castiel says carefully, “I would guess they would head north, away from the roads and any other settlements.”

It doesn’t take long for Dean to catch his meaning. “But if they didn’t leave voluntarily--”

They both turn to look to the south. “Nofenne,” Dean says.

He’s never visited their southern neighbours. Nofenne holds itself mostly apart. But something is scratching at the edge of his mind, some connection--

“King Lucien was prince of Nofenne before he married Queen Kelly.”

A shadow flickers behind Castiel’s eyes. “Yes.”

Dean exhales slowly as he pushes aside a branch hanging directly in his path. “The current queen. Amara. She’s a cousin of sorts to Lucien? And to Jack?”

“Yes,” Castiel says again. “She visited Dysland once, a long time ago. She was gracious, but cool. She dutifully writes to Jack on his namedays, but they’re far from close.”

“Even if she had some sort of grudge against the prince”-- Dean doesn’t miss the way Castiel flinches at his words-- “why involve Claire?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I doubt it’s a personal motivation at play. But politically speaking--”

“The betrothal.” Dean almost trips over a tree root as the realization hits him, but Castiel’s hand at his elbow keeps him steady. “Thanks,” he says, hurriedly pulling away from the touch. “Of course. Nofenne might be threatened by a closer alliance between Dysland and Anatiac.”

A small stream trickles through the undergrowth in front of them, and Dean jumps across it. He waits on the other side as Castiel does the same, and it’s then that he looks down and sees it.

A bootprint in the muddy ground beside the stream.

“Castiel,” he hisses. “Look.”

In an instant, Castiel is beside him. They both crouch down, Dean’s heart pounding in his chest. “It’s too big to be Claire’s.”

Castiel measures his hand against the print, then looks up at Dean. “It matches Jack’s.”

He doesn’t say anything further, but there’s something close to pity in his eyes.

“Okay.” Dean rises to his feet, closing his eyes as he imagines it. “Just because Claire’s prints aren’t here doesn’t mean”-- he swallows roughly-- “doesn’t mean anything has happened to her. Anything else.” Opening his eyes, he looks down at Jack’s bootprint again. “It’s only the one print. Someone covered their tracks, and they missed this one.”

Slowly, Castiel nods. “It would explain why we saw nothing on the other side of the stream.”

“They were clever enough to try to hide the trail, but they were in a rush.” Dean pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “Still doesn’t tell us if Jack and Claire were alone.”

“No. But we know they passed this way.”

Dean lets out a deep breath. “Alright, then. We continue west through the woods until we’re near the road south. Watch for any further clues. We make our next decision there.”

He’s braced for an argument, but Castiel doesn’t respond. He just takes one last look at the print on the muddy bank and strides away.

There’s nothing for Dean to do but follow.

Castiel sets a good pace, brisk but not punishing. Unsurprisingly, he’s as competent in the woods as he is everywhere else, moving stealthily and near-silently through the trees.

They don’t find any other traces of Jack and Claire or anyone else. Birds observe them from their perches high in the trees, and one startled rabbit darts across their path when they wander too close to its burrow, but otherwise, they’re alone. 

Dean doesn’t particularly enjoy being alone. It leaves him with only his thoughts for company, and considering their circumstances, his thoughts are far from easy. The set of Castiel’s shoulders doesn’t exactly encourage conversation, though, so Dean holds his tongue until the dappled sunlight streaming through the treetops begins to fade and it becomes harder and harder to see the obstacles in their path.

He estimates they’re about halfway to their destination of the southern road by that time, so he clears his throat. “Castiel?”

Castiel looks back over his shoulder but doesn’t stop. “What?”

“Should we make camp for the night soon?”

“It’s not even”-- He trails off as Dean points up to the patch of sky visible between the trees, which is noticeably darker than it was the last time Dean looked up. 

He does stop, then, planting his hands on his hips and squinting ahead. “It’s too open here,” he declares after a moment. “Let’s press on a bit further and find somewhere more sheltered.”

It’s a reasonable plan, so Dean just shrugs. “I hope you can see well in the dark, then, since you’ll be in the lead.”

A few minutes later, he hears a muffled curse and can just make out Castiel’s shadowy form righting himself after a stumble, likely on a tree root or a patch of uneven ground. Dean doesn’t even have to cover his smile. 

There’s a dip in the forest floor, and Castiel leads them along it until they find themselves at the base of a small hill. “Here,” he says. “This will do.”

The hill provides some shelter from the night breeze, and it’s always good to have high ground nearby. Dean nods his approval before realizing Castiel probably can’t see him. “Good enough for me.”

He starts unpacking his satchel, spreading a cloth over the ground to keep off the damp of the forest floor while Castiel reaches into his own bag for provisions. The night is warm enough that they won’t need a fire, sparing them the argument over whether it’s a risk worth taking. 

“Here.” Castiel tosses a sausage pasty and an apple over to Dean. “We have food for about four days, and after that, we’ll have to provide for ourselves.”

Dean takes a large bite of the apple and shrugs. “Not a problem. There’s plenty of game in the forest, and we can find berries easily enough. There might even be fish in some of the bigger streams.”

It’s hard to read Castiel’s expression in the darkness. “We didn’t bring fishing poles.”

“So I’ll make us a net.” Dean finishes his apple and tosses the core away into the trees. “It’s not that difficult.”

“No,” Castiel says. “It isn’t. But I’m surprised you know how.”

Stung, Dean glares at him. “I’ve probably spent more time in the forest than you have. Your palace is much further from the woods.” It isn’t until he says it out loud that he realizes how unusual that makes Castiel’s level of comfort in the forest. “How did you learn your forestry, then?”

There’s a long pause before Castiel answers. “I didn’t always live at the palace.”

It’s the most personal detail Castiel has revealed about himself in the seven long years of their acquaintance. Intrigued despite himself, Dean stretches out and props himself up on one elbow. “You grew up near the woods?”

“For a time.”

Dean waits, but Castiel doesn’t elaborate. Clearly, the strange intimacy created by being the only two people amid a vast tangle of trees is all in Dean’s head. “Who taught you?”

Castiel sighs. “Winchester, I’m really not in the mood to play “who’s the best guard?” right now. We should get some rest.”

Dean finds himself wishing he hadn’t already tossed his apple core away, because he would have loved to have thrown it at Castiel instead. He was just trying to have a conversation. He should have known better.

Grumbling to himself, he pushes himself upright. “I’ll take first watch, then. You rest.”

“Winchester--”

“Sleep well, Castiel.” Dean stares straight ahead, ignoring the shuffling sounds of Castiel moving to his left. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Hopefully by then, he’ll have cooled down enough to wake him gently. Dean hears a few more soft noises as Castiel settles himself, and then his breathing evens out as he slips into sleep. 

Dean remains on high alert, head turning at every branch that snaps under the paw of some woodland creature, wondering how many nights they’ll pass just like this before they find Claire and Jack.

When Dean wakes the next morning, it’s to the chirping of birds high in the trees and Castiel’s eyes carefully fixed on a point just above Dean’s head.

“Mmnph.” Dean grumbles to himself as he blinks awake. There’s a soft light filtering down through the canopy, but it’s gentle, not yet full strength. Dawn hasn’t fully arrived. “Morning.”

For a second, he thinks Castiel isn’t going to reply. Then his eyes drop to meet Dean’s and he replies, “Good morning,” with all the suspicion of someone not sure if they’re being mocked.

Dean is pleased to find that his irritation from the night before has faded. He has no doubt it will make a return appearance today, for some reason or another, but it’s good to start the day with a blank slate. He climbs to his feet and stretches his arms above his head, rolling his neck from side to side with a satisfying crack. By the time he’s done, Castiel is staring off into the trees as if bored with Dean’s display of discomfort after a night sleeping on hard, rough ground.

With one last stretch and a long sigh, Dean heads off into the bushes to take care of his morning business. He returns to their minimal campsite to find Castiel packing up the cloths they’d spread on the ground. “Back at it, then?”

Castiel looks up and nods. “If we keep to the pace we set yesterday, we can reach the road south before the daylight fades.”

He doesn’t mention what happens after that, and neither does Dean. They’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. For now, they have a plan, and shockingly, they didn’t even argue about it. Dean reaches down for his pack and swings it over his shoulders, then looks back at Castiel. “Let’s move out.”

Dean takes the lead without a protest from Castiel. They keep the rising sun behind them as they push through the forest, and by midday, Dean can feel its heat burning into the exposed skin at the back of his neck.

They haven’t said a single word to each other since they left their campsite, so Dean can be excused for the way he stumbles slightly when Castiel’s voice pierces the quiet around them. “Do you hear that?”

Dean pauses, tilting his head to the side as he listens intently. “Water?”

“This way.” Castiel leads them off into the trees to their right, following the sound of running water, and they soon arrive at a small forest pool fed by a trickling stream, likely an offshoot of the one they crossed the day before.

Dean crouches down and fills his canteen, then motions to Castiel to do the same. He takes a deep drink, then splashes some of the cool water over the back of his neck and his face. 

He opens his eyes to find Castiel giving him a strange look. “What? The sun is intense.”

Of course Castiel wouldn’t notice. He’s immune to such trivialities, or whatever. 

Dean can’t explain where the impulse comes from. If it’s the familiar irritation bubbling back up or something else entirely, some sense of play brought to the surface by the sunshine and the clear water. But without giving it more than a second’s thought and therefore realizing what a stupid idea it is, he splashes a handful of water in Castiel’s direction.

The look on Castiel’s face is priceless: a combination of shock, distaste, and outrage. Not for the first time, Dean thinks he bears a striking resemblance to an offended cat. He sputters as he brushes the water off his face with one hand, and Dean can’t help himself. He starts to laugh.

Castiel’s face goes blank. He rises to his feet, pushes his hand through his damp hair, and says, “You are a child.”

“Oh come on, I was just--”

“We should keep moving,” Castiel says, no room for argument in his tone. He barely waits a second before turning on his heel and heading back the way they came. 

Dean stares at his retreating back, shaking his head at his own impulsiveness. He honestly hadn’t been trying to piss Castiel off, but it looks like he did anyway. Lesson learned: it’s not worth the effort.

A few hours later, he passes Castiel a meat pie from his pack, because he might be a grumpy asshole but he still needs to eat, and Castiel offers a quiet thank you in return. It’s not much, but it’s enough that by the time they turn south-west and reach the crossroads, they can have a reasonable discussion about their next move.

Dean stands at the T-shaped intersection of the two roads, hands planted on his hips as he looks each direction in turn. There are faint hoofprints in the hard-packed dirt of the road that goes from east to west, likely made by guards he knows, riding back and forth on their own patrols. He can’t identify any tracks on the road south.

Sighing, he squints at Castiel in the last light of the sun. “Anything?”

Castiel glances back from where he’s been studying the undergrowth along the side of the road. “No. Nothing.”

Dean chews on his lower lip as he considers their options. They could wait here until the patrols sweep by again and ask them for a status report, but it could be a potential waste of time. On the other hand, they have absolutely no clues to follow, so they’d only be picking a direction at random, and that could take them even further from Jack and Claire. 

He really doesn’t expect to find anything, but he can’t in good conscience _not_ look, so Dean mimics Castiel’s pose at the north-western corner of the crossroad, brushing through the undergrowth in search of another bootprint, an apple core, anything.

What he finds is a flower.

Not just any flower. A small, purple, star-shaped flower, unattached to any stem, its petals limp and crushed though still vibrant. A flower Dean last saw scattered on the floor of Claire’s chamber.

“Castiel!” His voice comes out almost as a squeak, but he can’t care about that right now. It’s a sign, it’s a clue, and not only that, it’s a direct link to Claire. The quiet voice in his head, the one that’s been whispering worries into his brain since they found Jack’s footprint and not Claire’s, is finally silenced. “I found something!”

Castiel crosses the open ground in a few long strides, then crouches down at Dean’s side. “It’s a flower,” he says doubtfully, picking it up to examine it more closely.

“Yes.” Dean grins at him. “But this, my friend, is the same flower Claire and I spent hours picking the afternoon of the ball. The same flower whose petals I found on her chamber floor. She was going to make a crown of them to wear to the ball.”

He watches as the realization dawns on Castiel’s face. “They were here.”

Still grinning, Dean takes a few more steps away from the road. The light is fading, but enough remains for him to find a second flower a few steps away, more north than west. “They came this far west through the trees, then turned north,” he says. “I don’t know why, but they did.”

Lips pursed, Castiel nods. “We won’t find much more of a trail in the dark.”

Despite the urge to push on, Dean has to agree. “We should camp further from the road, though.”

Castiel nods again. He’s still holding the first flower, tiny and delicate in his large, capable hand. Slowly, he extends his hand towards Dean, not meeting his eyes.

Throat tight, Dean carefully takes it and tucks it into the pocket of his shirt. “Thanks,” he says. “I know it’s just a dumb flower, but--”

“You don’t have to explain.” There’s an unusual softness in Castiel’s eyes, or maybe it’s just the effect of the setting sun. “Come on.”

Quietly, they push further into the woods until the sun has disappeared completely and the trees surround them once more. Castiel finds another sheltered nook to turn into a campsite, and they set up even more efficiently than they did the night before.

Maybe it’s the ease with which they settled themselves in for the night. Maybe it’s the memory of that odd look in Castiel’s eyes. Or maybe it’s just the fact that they didn’t talk all fucking day, and Dean is bursting with the need for conversation.

Whatever the reason, once they’re sprawled out on the ground and eating their evening meal, Dean says, “I’m glad we’re going north.”

Castiel doesn’t answer for so long Dean almost thinks he’s fallen asleep. Then, finally: “Why is that?”

Dean ducks his head to hide a satisfied smile even if Castiel probably can’t see it in the dark. “My family’s from the north. Not this far west, obviously. But the north of Anatiac.”

“I thought your father--” Castiel cuts himself off. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I brought it up.” Dean lies back and folds his arms under his head as he continues talking. “Yeah, my dad was raised at the palace just like his father before him. But my mom’s family were landholders in the north. They weren’t pleased at the thought of her marrying a southerner, but I guess being Royal Protector was distinguished enough that they allowed it.”

He doesn’t mention the fact that being distinguished didn’t save his father’s life. It doesn’t seem like the right time. “So my brother and I, we grew up half at the Campbell family farm, but we visited the palace to see my father sometimes. After my dad died, there were a few years we were all together at the farm, my mom and her mom and Sam and I. Then I moved back to the palace when I swore my oath to Claire, but the north still feels like home.”

“And your brother?” There’s a careful note to Castiel’s voice that makes Dean smile again. “You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“Not like we’ve really talked all that much,” Dean replies, but there’s no heat in it. “Sam’s fine. Taller than me, smarter too, but I’m much better-looking. He’s got his own house on the family land, him and his wife Sarah. Grandma Deanna passed on a few years ago, so it’s just my mom at the main house. It’s good for her to have Sam nearby.”

There’s another lengthy pause. Dean waits, rolling his head to the side to look over at Castiel. He just gave him a golden opportunity--

“Are you named after your grandmother?”

Dean almost punches the air in triumph. So he’s human after all. “I sure am. And proud of it.”

He can’t read Castiel’s expression in the dark, but his voice sounds amused. “And who was Sam named after?”

Blowing out a deep breath, Dean says, “Our grandfather. Samuel Campbell.”

“That’s much less entertaining, as far as personal trivia goes.”

“Thank you.” Dean props himself back up on one elbow. Castiel is still sitting with his hands clasped around his knees, but the lines of his back and shoulders look significantly less stiff than they did earlier, and Dean counts that as a victory. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

He thought he’d perfected the art of killing a conversation with Castiel earlier in the day, but as it turns out, he has more to learn. Castiel goes rigid, and his voice is sharper than the edge on Dean’s sword. “I don’t talk about my family.”

Underneath the hostility, there’s a bright thread of pain. It’s clear enough that Dean doesn’t bite back, just waits until he thinks Castiel is less likely to pull a weapon on him before he says, “Alright. We won’t, then. But if you ever want to, or need to, I’ve heard I’m actually a pretty good listener.”

After another tense silence, Castiel says, “Thank you.” It’s unclear if he’s thanking Dean for his offer or for not pressing the subject in the first place, or possibly both. 

“Yeah.” Dean hauls himself back to a seated position and arranges himself as comfortably as possible while remaining upright. “I should probably take first watch again. You must be tired.”

He expects Castiel to fight him on it, but he doesn’t. He just murmurs something that sounds like agreement and disappears into the dense trees for a few minutes before coming back to stretch out on the ground, his long body curled in on itself in a way that makes him look surprisingly young and small. 

And this time, he’s the first one to wish Dean a good night.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Dean does when he wakes is check that the purple flower is still safely tucked inside his shirt pocket. He catches Castiel eyeing him curiously, but doesn’t offer any further explanation. 

They’d left the second blossom where it fell, and through a combination of memory and the tracks they weren’t bothering to hide, they find their way back to it easily enough. With the morning light to help them, they go over every inch of ground within a plausible radius, but find no more traces of Claire’s presence, and none of Jack’s.

Dean clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Should’ve known it was too good to be true.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Castiel replies, staring off into the trees.

“Was that optimism?” Dean pulls an exaggerated expression of surprise. “From Sir Grumpy himself?”

Castiel looks over at him, scowling. Grumpy indeed. “Is that what they call me?”

“No, I--” Dean throws his hands in the air. “What, whoever taught you how to prowl through the forest like a mountain cat didn’t leave time to teach you about jokes?”

Though his expression doesn’t change, something flickers behind Castiel’s eyes. “Oh, I’m well-acquainted with jokes,” he says quietly. “Though more of the cosmic kind.”

Of course, he doesn’t elaborate further, just turns his face north and points ahead. “If Claire and Jack are captives of the Nofenners, it stands to reason that they might try to throw us off their trail by heading in the opposite direction.”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, and a small part of Dean is disappointed at the lost opportunity to peel away another level of inscrutability from Castiel’s demeanour, but his priority is and always will be Claire. “Right.” He takes a few steps forward to join Castiel. “Or, if they’re on their own, they would know that the north is less populated. They’re smart kids, they would try to get away from prying eyes.”

“We continue north, then.” Castiel gives Dean a sidelong look, the early morning sun striking his face at just the right angle for every dark eyelash to be visible. “A homecoming of sorts, for you.”

Dean grins easily at him, knocking his shoulder against Castiel’s as he passes him. “You won’t mind if I take the lead, then.”

He doesn’t quite catch what Castiel grumbles behind him, and while it doesn’t sound entirely complimentary, it likely isn’t him wishing some unusual death on Dean, because it’s far from the last thing he says.

It starts as a running commentary on the weather. “There’s a storm brewing,” Castiel announces, about fifteen minutes after they’ve set out northward. “It won’t hit today, and depending on the wind it may just pass us by. But by tomorrow afternoon, somewhere nearby, there will be a full-force summer storm.”

Dean twists his head to look back at him. “Are you afraid of storms?” He can hardly believe stoic, deadly Castiel would be afraid of anything, but then again, something that uncontrollable, something that can’t simply be dueled or glared into submission--

“No.” It’s amazing, really, how much scorn Castiel can inject into that one word. “Why, are you?”

“No,” Dean echoes. A memory surges to the forefront of his mind, and he smiles. “Claire used to be, when she was much younger. We would stay up all night together making shadow puppets on the walls to take her mind off of it.”

“Jack used to be afraid of horses.” Dean can’t see the look on Castiel’s face, but he can hear the fondness in his voice. “Especially the big warhorses.”

“I find that surprising, considering how well he did with Impala.”

“He’s come a long way.” There’s a pause, and then, so softly Dean almost doesn’t hear, “We all have.”

Dean has learned enough over the past two days to not push Castiel for an explanation. He’s burning with the need to know who, exactly, is included in that ‘we,’ but he won’t ask. Even though he’s desperate to. 

Instead, he turns the conversation back to the weather. The safest, least controversial topic of conversation in the history of human communication. 

“Rain might be good for us,” he remarks. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of fresher air.” The sun is off to their side now that they’re heading north, and despite the early hour, it’s already intense even in the patches it breaks through the trees. “Save us the hassle of finding a place to wash, too.”

Castiel makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a sigh. “Rain is not an acceptable substitute for proper bathing.”

Dean chokes back a laugh. “Is that how you talk to the prince? Like a scandalized tutor or etiquette master?”

“When necessary, yes. And when necessary with you.”

“Well, if you can find us another pool like you did yesterday, I will gladly take as proper a bath as I can in these conditions.” Dean shakes his head mournfully at the thought of his bathing chamber back at the palace, heated water in abundance and fresh soaps made in the village. “You can even check me over for cleanliness when I’m done.”

And there he goes, fucking it all up again. It’s a joke, just a joke, a completely empty one, but Castiel doesn’t do so well with jokes, and Dean is lying to himself if he thinks it’s empty at all, like he hasn’t ever imagined Castiel’s intense blue eyes on his naked body, but he isn’t supposed to think about that at all, let alone mention it out loud--

“I don’t think that would be very effective,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “We won’t stop until it’s dark again, and I wouldn’t have enough light to conduct a proper examination.”

Dean trips, and this time there’s no conveniently-placed tree root to blame for it. He whirls to face Castiel, mouth hanging open, and is met with an entirely new expression, one he’s never seen on Castiel’s face in all the seven long years they’ve known each other: amusement laced with smugness and just a hint, just a tiny hint of uncertainty, like he’s fairly sure he said something clever but isn’t quite positive he got it right.

Just because Dean slipped up once doesn’t give him permission to deliberately break down their carefully-constructed boundaries. Just because Castiel responded in kind doesn’t mean Dean can push him. The simple fact that Castiel is _joking_ with him, rather than arguing, is enough of a victory. 

So Dean just shrugs and says, “You’d be the loser in that situation. Since you’re the one who’s going to have to put up with the smell of me after three days in the woods.”

Castiel’s nose crinkles up. Frankly, it’s adorable. “I will find a pool,” he declares. “For both our sakes.”

They walk in silence for some time after that, but there’s an easiness to it that Dean enjoys more than he’d care to admit. They don’t stop for a midday meal, but share out the contents of their satchels as they walk. Dean clicks his tongue when he sees how low their supplies are running, and meets Castiel’s solemn expression when he looks up. Neither of them says it out loud, but the thought is clear: they hoped they’d have found Claire and Jack by now. 

“Do you know the old stories about the north?” Castiel asks, not long after that. The sun is at their backs now, and Dean can feel the exposed skin above his collar prickling in the heat. “You must, having grown up there.”

“What, about the dragons and the magic?” Dean scoffs. “Sure. My grandmother loved to tell the tales she heard from her grandmother, who claimed to have seen a dragon when she was a girl. But even if that was true, and there are enough stories that I’m willing to accept it, that was a long time ago.”

“And the magic?”

Dean goes silent. It was never anything dangerous, he tells himself. Nothing that could hurt anyone. His mother could just-- make things better, sometimes. A headache soothed with the press of her fingertips to his forehead. A torn shirt mended without needle or thread. A blighted crop turned healthy again. Really, was it so different than what Headmistress Missouri and Patience and all the other healers did at the Academy?

What Sam does-- what Sam can do-- is different, though. Dean can’t deny it. And he can’t tell anyone about it, not even Castiel. No matter how much he wants to.

“Magic?” He laughs, but rings false even to his own ears. “No. I don’t believe in magic. Just skill and practice and a sword in my hand.”

Castiel doesn’t answer, but Dean can feel the weight of his gaze on his back, even more intense than the rays of the sun. Finally, Castiel says, “Do you know the story about the dragon and the apple orchard?”

And even though Dean does, because it was one of his favourites, the one he asked his grandmother to tell over and over again, he says, “No,” because he wants to hear it in Castiel’s grave, gravelly voice.

“Once upon a time,” he begins, “a dragon flew over a prosperous land and decided to make it his home…”

It’s Dean’s turn to decide when they stop for the night. They’re losing light, and though he would never admit it, he’s getting tired. Not physically, but it’s starting to wear on him, trudging through the forest with only the barest of clues and the faintest hope guiding them.

“We should think about stopping soon,” he says, and hears Castiel murmur in agreement. “Still think you can find us a nice clear forest pool?”

A branch snaps behind him, and he feels the fleeting warmth of Castiel’s body pressing along his as he passes Dean to take the lead. “I’ll do my best.”

From anyone else, that might not be the most confidence-inspiring statement. But from Castiel-- Dean thinks he might be getting a proper bath tonight after all.

Sure enough, it only takes a quarter of an hour, by Dean’s guess, for Castiel to turn slightly back east, and maybe a minute after that, Dean’s slightly less sensitive ears pick up the sound of running water. “Alright, I’m impressed,” he whispers, following Castiel towards it. 

“It might only be a stream.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so modest. Either way, it’s fresh water, and you just--” He waves his hand in the air. “What, sniffed it out?”

“Something like that.” Castiel stops suddenly, and only years of sword-trained reflexes keep Dean from crashing into his back. “Aha.”

He sounds satisfied, just shy of smug, and turns back to Dean to wave him forward. “Your bath.”

Stepping forward, Dean’s breath catches in his throat. It looks like something out of one of the old stories, like the one Castiel told earlier this afternoon. A perfect jewel of a clearing, deep in the forest, open to the sky and the brilliant light of the stars. A burbling stream that flows down from a small crest to the northeast, widening into a crystal-clear pool before winding its way back into the trees. 

Dean takes three more steps, until he’s out from the cover of the trees, and tilts his face up to the sky. He’s never seen so many stars, not even on his family’s farm. He recognizes some of the patterns, the shapes they form in the sky, and hears his mother and grandmother’s voices whispering fanciful tales about heroes and enchantresses who now live among the stars. 

He told Claire many of those stories. He hopes wherever she is, she’s looking up at these same stars, and that they’re a comfort to her.

Blinking rapidly, he turns back to Castiel. He’s hovering just at the edge of the trees, watching Dean with a strange look on his face. Something cautious, curious-- Dean can’t be sure. He clears his throat and pats the satchel over his shoulder. “We’re running low on supplies. Not that I doubt your ability to find us water again, especially now, but while we’re here, it might be a wise time to fish.”

Castiel nods. “I can do that, if you want to--” He gestures towards the pool.

Dean does. Very much so. But he shakes his head. “No, you go ahead. I’ll follow the stream back into the woods a bit. Besides.” He grins. “I have to prove to you that I can both make my own net and use it successfully.”

Without the tangle of treetops obscuring the light of the moon and the stars, he can see Castiel roll his eyes. “Go on, then.”

Half-tempted to whistle to himself, but not willing to break the solemn silence of this place, Dean sets off into the trees on the other side of the clearing. He sneaks one glance back over his shoulder and sees Castiel dropping his pack at the side of the pool, hands tugging at the laces of his shirt. Dean swallows roughly and looks away, heart beating so loud he’s certain Castiel can hear it even at this distance.

Weaving the net is a good distraction. His hands move quickly through the patterns, using trailing vines from the trees to craft a clumsy but functional trap. Just on the other side of the rise in the ground, where the water moves more slowly, several decent-sized rocks jut up from its surface. Carefully, Dean balances himself on one of them, net at the ready.

He was seven years old the first time his father took him fishing. Not in a small forest stream like this, but the wide rushing river that winds its way around the eastern edges of Anatiac. They stood on the bank, both of John’s hands firmly around Dean’s shoulders, his stern voice telling him to be patient, to make a calculated move rather than swinging wildly. He remembers the way it felt when he caught his first fish and his father’s face broke into a proud grin even though it was a small, slippery thing, nowhere near big enough to make a decent meal. They spent most of the afternoon together, one of the rare days John was away from King James’ side. Dean can still remember the taste of their catch, prepared by the palace chef and presented to them at supper, and the way his father’s hand rested on his shoulder through the entire meal.

A glimmer of movement pulls him back to the present, and Dean tenses. There, just under the shadow of one of the rocks--

The net splashes into the water and Dean hauls it back up with a large fish flopping inside, big enough to feed both him and Castiel tonight and for a few more days. He grins to himself as he slings the net over his shoulder and starts back towards the clearing. 

Dean climbs down the small hill, the stream burbling at his side, and comes to a sudden stop at the edge of the trees. He should have thought about this, should have delayed his return, no matter how much he wanted to show off his fishing skills, because he came back too early, and Castiel is still in the pool.

The starlight gleams on the exposed skin of his back and shoulders, glinting off the gold chain around his neck. Dean can see every line of muscle, every dip and hollow as he lifts his arms over his head to pour water over his head. His movements are slow, almost luxurious, in a way Dean doesn’t associate with him at all. Normally, Castiel is brisk efficiency and unwasted words, but there’s something decadent in the way he scoops water in his hands and runs them over the backs of his shoulders, letting it trickle all the way down his back. Fortunately, the water is waist deep, but Dean’s gaze is still pulled downwards, down to where Castiel’s broad shoulders narrow into a trim but solid waist before--

He doesn’t know if he makes some involuntary sound, or if Castiel’s instincts warn him of Dean’s presence. He stills, slowly looking back over his shoulder and meeting Dean’s eyes. 

Dean turns away as quickly as he can. He draws in a deep breath, trying to steady his voice so Castiel won’t hear the pounding of his heart as soon as he opens his mouth. “I caught us supper,” he calls out. “I’ll get a fire going, just a small one.”

Carefully keeping his eyes in front of himself, Dean heads to where he left his satchel abandoned a few feet away from the pool. He hears the ripple of the water as Castiel moves, but he deliberately keeps his head turned away as he scoops out a small pit to build a fire in.

“I can do that.” Castiel’s voice is quiet but close. Dean twists to look at him, now standing between Dean and the pool in a loose linen shirt, his damp hair dripping onto the collar and turning it translucent. “You caught it, I’ll cook it. It’s only fair.”

Nothing about this situation is fair, not the uncharacteristic openness in Castiel’s expression or the way his dark hair curls slightly away from his ears. Especially not the droplet of water snaking its way down his collarbone to disappear under his shirt.

Under other circumstances, Dean might have protested. But right, plunging his entire body into the water sounds like the best solution to his problem.

“Sure,” he says, rising to his feet. “Good teamwork.”

A trace of a smile hovers on Castiel’s lips. “Indeed.”

Reluctantly, Dean shuffles off towards the pool. When he glances back, Castiel is already crouched in front of the fire pit, all his attention on the task at hand. 

Dean strips off his clothes and eyes the water. He dips one toe in and jerks back immediately, swearing under his breath. “You might have warned me!”

Castiel doesn’t even turn around. “It’s a stream-fed pool, coming from the north. Did you expect it to be warm?”

Sighing, Dean takes a deep breath and steps forward.

The cold water is a shock, but only a momentary one. His body adjusts quickly, and the summer air is still warm on his torso despite the lateness of the hour. Once he gets over the immediate discomfort, Dean has to admit it’s really quite pleasant. 

He rinses himself down, feeling instantly refreshed as sweat and dirt are stripped away from his body. Leaning forward, he dunks his head under the water and scrubs his hands through his hair. When he comes back up for air, he sees the flicker of flames and smells the sweet smoke from the fire Castiel has built as perfectly as he does everything else. 

It will take a little while longer for the fish to cook, and Dean is quite content where he is. He turns himself onto his back, staring up at the star-filled sky, and inhales deeply. The worry that lodges in the back of his mind and the centre of his chest is still there, and it will be until he knows Claire is safe, but it feels muted, somehow, by the water and stars and the whisper of the night breeze.

He floats there for a few minutes longer before Castiel’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Winchester?”

“Yeah?”

“Since you swore your oath, what’s the longest you’ve ever been away from Princess Claire?”

Dean frowns up at the sky, weighing both his answer and what it means that Castiel is asking this question. “At once? A day and a half. When I went home for my brother’s wedding.”

“I’ve never been separated from Jack for even that. A few hours at most, other than at night, of course.”

“Of course,” Dean echoes. He thought his own life revolved around Claire, but only a few hours--

He can’t imagine exactly what it must be like for Castiel, but he’s fairly certain he knows better than anyone else. “We’re going to get them back.” He pulls himself upright, shaking off the drops of water that cling to his skin as he steps out of the pool. “Castiel, I swear. We’re going to get them back.”

Castiel doesn’t look at him, but he does turn his head to the side, just enough for Dean to see the curve of his jaw lit by the fire. He’s quiet while Dean dries himself off as best as he can and puts on his clean shirt. Eventually, he says, “I thought you were going to stay in there forever. Your fingers will start to shrivel.”

Dean crosses the few feet of soft grass between them and sits in front of the fire, holding his hands out in front of himself. “No wrinkles, look.” He doesn’t joke about Castiel checking over the rest of him. Not again. 

Castiel glances down at his hands, then into Dean’s face. He opens his mouth to speak, but then he looks away, poking the fish with a peeled twig. “This should be ready.”

“Right.” Dean lets out a deep breath and roots in his bag for the last of their flatbreads, breaking it in half and passing a piece to Castiel. “Can we keep the fire going just a little longer? It’ll help us dry off.”

Folding a piece of fish into the bread, Castiel nods. “That’s smart. Now is not the time to risk catching a chill.”

Dean slowly lowers his hands, which were raised to his mouth so he could start eating. “Was that-- was that a compliment?”

Between the fire and the stars, he catches the flicker of a smile on Castiel’s face. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t. But I will wake up tomorrow morning, wondering if it was all a dream.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “Eat your supper, Winchester.”

Dean does as he’s told. Silence falls between them as they occupy themselves with eating, but there’s no tension in it. By the time he’s done, Dean catches himself yawning, and his attempts to mask it with his hand aren’t enough to fool Castiel, apparently

“I’ll take first watch tonight,” he says. 

“I’m fine, I can make it a few more hours--”

Castiel holds up a hand to cut him off. “Please. I won’t sleep right now, so I might as well keep watch.”

He doesn’t have to explain it. It’s written in the set of his shoulders, the way his eyes keep drifting off to the trees or up towards the sky. He’s still thinking about Jack, about how they hoped they’d have found them by now. 

It’s equally clear that he doesn’t particularly want to discuss it, despite Dean’s offer to listen. He knows a thing or two about keeping his thoughts close to his chest, so he doesn’t push the matter. If letting Castiel take first watch tonight will help, then that’s what will Dean do.

So he curls up on the soft grass with his head pillowed on his satchel. Castiel’s face is outlined by the last dying glow of the fire, the lines of worry around his eyes and mouth like veins in pure marble. Slowly, almost like he’s reaching into the burning embers, Dean stretches out his hand just enough for his fingers to brush against Castiel’s. “Goodnight,” he says softly.

Castiel doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t move his hand away, either.


	7. Chapter 7

They continue north the next morning. Castiel is in the lead once more, breaking ground and clearing low-hanging branches and trailing vines from their path, leaving Dean free to scan the surrounding area for any signs that Claire and Jack might have passed this way. 

By mid-morning, the air has grown thick, any breeze that might have made its way through the trees gone still. Dean glances up at the small patch of sky visible through the canopy and grimaces. The sky is grey, with darker streaks slashing through it like the claws of some approaching monster. 

“I told you there was a storm coming.”

Dean tears his gaze away from the sky and down to the back of Castiel’s head. “How did you know what I was--”

“Your footsteps slowed. You’ve been keeping pace despite searching the immediate area, and if you’d found something here, you would have announced it.” Castiel throws a knowing look back over his shoulder. “You’re not exactly subtle. So if you were distracted, but not by our mission, the odds were it was that sky.” He jerks his chin upwards, frowning. “I’ve felt it too, that heaviness in the air. We’re walking right into it.”

He doesn’t stop, or slow down, or change his path. Dean waits a moment longer, then says, “So should we not do that?”

Even a few days ago, it would have rankled, deferring to Castiel. But since he’s apparently some sort of storm savant, it’s just an effective use of resources. 

Castiel does pause then, turning to meet Dean’s eyes. “You said you weren’t afraid of storms.”

“I’m not. I’m just wondering--” Before he can even finish the thought, it’s crowded out by another, more pressing realization. “Never mind. We should keep going.”

Castiel raises one eyebrow. “Would you care to share your reasoning?”

“Right.” Dean moves forward to join him, then keeps going, and Castiel quickly falls into step beside him. “We’re both comfortable in the woods. As often as we came riding here, Claire isn’t, really. And I’m guessing Jack isn’t either?”

“Not like we are, no,” Castiel murmurs. “But why--”

Dean sees the moment understanding dawns on him. “Of course. You think they’ll stop to find shelter, and if they stop moving, we have a better chance of finding them, or at least closing the distance between us.”

“Exactly.” Without thinking, Dean reaches out and claps him on the shoulder. He pulls back instantly, the feeling of solid muscle under his hand as scalding as a hot kettle. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I was just--”

“It’s fine, Winchester.” Castiel hardly seems to notice Dean’s breach of etiquette. Trust him to stay focused on the mission and not on Dean making a fool of himself. After all, he’s had plenty of practice with it. “There’s another advantage. If it rains, and the ground softens, it will be easier to find their tracks, and if they’re hurrying to take cover, they might get sloppy at erasing them again.”

“Right.” Dean glances up at the sky again, then back at Castiel. “Never thought I’d find myself wishing for a storm so badly.”

“I never would have predicted any part of this situation,” Castiel mutters as he steps neatly around Dean to take the lead again. “The storm might be the least of it.”

He sounds so disgruntled that Dean can’t help but laugh. For a second, he thinks he’s made another mistake when Castiel turns to look over his shoulder, but he’s surprised to see a hint of a smile on Castiel’s lips, and then to hear a small laugh escape them. 

“Come on,” he says. “We have a storm to chase.”

It’s past midday when the first raindrop hits Dean’s forehead.

Unconsciously, he wipes it away before it can roll down to blur his vision. It isn’t until the second drop lands on the back of his hand that the significance of it dawns on him. “Castiel,” he calls out. “It’s raining.”

Castiel halts immediately, turning his face up to the sky and lifting one hand, palm upwards. He looks like he’s invoking some sort of higher power, his expression serene as he waits to feel the burst of water on his hand. Several more raindrops fall on Dean’s face, and then Castiel slowly relaxes, lowering his face and his hand. 

“Good,” he says.

The rain continues to fall steadily as they move further north, but the air is growing even thicker, and the patches of sky Dean can see between the trees are a dark, threatening grey. Every instinct in his body tells him to seek shelter, but he pushes those thoughts aside and attempts to focus on his surroundings.

He can see faint impressions left by Castiel’s boots in the ground ahead of him, but no other signs of people passing. Dean turns his head from right to left, eyes scanning through the drizzle for a flash of colour among the trees, for Claire’s bright blonde hair or a scrap of fabric from Jack’s cloak, but there’s nothing.

Just more trees.

Sighing, Dean wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He can feel the desperation creeping in, that taunting voice that tells him they have no chance of finding Jack and Claire in these endless woods. It’s an old familiar foe, that voice, and while he would normally drown it out with ale or good company or some vigorous sword practice, he doesn’t have those options available here and now.

There’s Castiel, of course. A few days ago Dean would have considered him the furthest thing possible from good company, but now--

“Do you remember that summer, three years ago?” he asks.

Castiel turns to give him a puzzled look over his shoulder. “If this is another joke about my age, I assure you, my memory remains as clear as ever.”

There are a number of things Dean would like to say to that, but this isn’t the place. “The year of the storm, I mean.”

Understanding dawns in Castiel’s eyes. “Of course.”

“We thought you weren’t coming. We waited a full day, all our guards posted on the walls cursing the endless rain, straining their eyes for a glimpse of your banners breaking through the trees.” Castiel has turned away to face forward again, but Dean can tell from the set of his shoulders that he’s still listening. “The courtiers were in a panic, thinking somehow we’d offended you, that the visit had been cancelled and the next time we saw a Dyslander, they’d come bearing a declaration of war.”

“Has anyone ever told you that your people are given to unnecessary dramatics?”

“Actually, that was exactly what I told them at the time,” Dean laughs. “The queen was worried, not that you would ever tell from looking at her. She wants an alliance so badly, and any threat to that--” Dean shakes his head at the memory. “So she called me to an audience and asked me to be ready to take Claire away somewhere safe, if it came to war.”

Castiel glances back over his shoulder, frowning. “She thought we would go from allies to enemies without any warning or provocation? Just like that?”

Dean shrugs, remembering the fear in Queen Amelia’s eyes. “Well, King Lucien wasn’t the most reasonable man. You can’t blame her for being wary, even after his death.”

Castiel doesn’t answer, but his jaw tightens, and Dean thinks his point has been made. “I told the queen that of course I would be ready to protect Claire. That was my sworn duty. But I also told her we needed more information first.”

“How reasonable of you.”

Dean is fairly certain he’s being teased, but gently, so he lets it pass unremarked. “The queen wouldn’t let me leave the palace, so I sent four of my most trusted guards out onto the forest road, along with a messenger to ride back once they had news. None of them were pleased about riding out in the rain, but they knew their duty.”

At that, Castiel stops and turns to face Dean fully. “That was your idea?”

“Yeah.” Dean shrugs. “I would have gone myself, but my place was at Claire’s side. Not that there was any real threat, anyway.”

“No,” Castiel says. His eyes have gone distant, like he’s replaying that day in his mind, and he turns abruptly to push a branch out of their path before resuming his pace. “Just an enormous tree blocking the road. One that couldn’t be as easily moved as this one.”

Dean smiles to himself as he imagines how frustrated Castiel must have been, faced with something he couldn’t just defeat with sheer force of will. He would have loved to have been there to witness it. “When the messenger came back alone, we were all gathered in the hall. The queen was so pale, I thought she might faint, but Claire was leaning forward, bright-eyed and curious.” He shakes his head. “I was hoping for the best but prepared for the worst, so when the messenger announced that it was a tree”-- he lets out a bark of laughter, still amazed at the absurdity of it even years later-- “a fucking tree that caused all this trouble, I almost didn’t believe him.”

“I felt much the same way,” Castiel mutters.

“Everyone had a different solution, of course. That we send horses, so everyone travelling in the carriages could clear the tree through the woods and then ride to Anatiac. That we tell your people to turn back, and postpone the visit until later in the year.” A lump rises in Dean’s throat as he recalls the swell of voices in the hall, and then one high, clear voice rising above them all. “Claire solved it. And I knew then, in that moment, that she would make a wonderful queen.”

Castiel is quiet for a long moment. “We were running out of ideas ourselves. It would have taken too long to send back to Dysland for help. Everyone was soaked and irritable and ready to snap at each other at the slightest provocation. That morning, the sun finally started to peek through the clouds, and I thought if nothing else, that would boost morale.” He looks back over his shoulder again, features blurred by the rain. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

Dean grins. “Me, along with half the guards and courtiers and the masons and blacksmiths and bakers of Anatiac, all armed with our best axes, following our princess into the forest and ready to battle a tree?”

“The axes were mildly alarming, I admit.” Castiel goes quiet again, then says, “That was a good day.”

“Yeah.” After the first flurry of confusion had passed, they’d gotten themselves organized and efficiently hacked the fallen tree into small enough pieces to shift it out of the road. The Anatiacians had brought provisions with them, and by the time they finished chopping, the sun was blazing, so they all ate together right there in the road, Jack and Claire and Billie and Rowena and all the others. 

Everyone except Castiel, who had remained a short distance away, watching the road for any approaching trouble. 

“You brought me food.” Castiel’s voice is so soft Dean barely hears it. “Before everyone else gobbled it all up, you said.”

“Did I?” Dean frowns, searching his memory. He remembers glancing over at Castiel, solemn and solitary, but doesn’t have any recollection of a conversation between them. Not that he doubts Castiel’s version of events. There was usually a similar instance every summer, a moment when Dean tried to reach out to Castiel, to attempt a fresh start. They always ended the same way: with Castiel’s cool stare, and Dean retreating to lick his wounded pride until the next summer came around. “Probably said something else too, something stupid. Pissed you off like I always do.”

“No.” There’s certainty in Castiel’s voice now. “You didn’t. You just brought me some bread and cheese, joked about Anatiacian appetites, and went back to Claire.”

Even now, Dean can’t tell how Castiel feels about it. And as usual, Castiel isn’t exactly forthcoming. Dean’s surprised he volunteered any new information to add to Dean’s rambling story at all. 

“Well.” Dean clears his throat. “The rain just made me think of it. That’s all.”

Castiel makes a noise that might be agreement, might just be acknowledgment, and they continue walking in silence as the rain grows heavier. If he concentrates, Dean can hear the faint rumbling of thunder in the distance, directly north of them.

“There was another year that it rained,” Castiel says abruptly. “Bad enough to be memorable, I mean.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that,” Dean coaxes. “Maybe my memory isn’t quite as solid as yours.”

Looking back over his shoulder, Castiel shakes his head. “I doubt that.” Swinging his gaze forward, he says, “They were still children, really. The second summer we visited Anatiac.”

The memory flashes through Dean’s mind: Claire’s hair still in two long braids, the roundness of Jack’s face. Rain pinging off the roof of the palace, collecting in the courtyard, the garden lush and vibrantly green with all the moisture in the air. Two full days and nights of steady rain, though no actual storm, and two bored royal children, stuck inside the palace-- the perfect setting for motherly scheming.

As it comes back to Dean, he starts to laugh. “I thought Claire was going to throw a tantrum right there in the hall when the queen brought in the dancing master. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I know how to dance.’ But Queen Amelia just gave her that look, the one that’s so calm and poised you feel like a fool for even thinking anything other than what she does, and Claire grabbed Jack--”

“And he tripped over his own feet and went sprawling on the ground,” Castiel finishes. “I was halfway across the room, sword drawn, but then he started laughing.”

“He found his rhythm quickly, though.” Dean can picture it so easily now: Claire and Jack whirling around the room, the musicians playing a lively beat, the queen tapping her feet with a satisfied smile on her face. 

Dean and Castiel, unneeded for the moment, playing endless games of peril in the corner of the room. Castiel won the first few rounds handily, but once Dean figured out his strategy, they were well-matched. They bickered the entire time, of course, and Dean felt wrong-footed and awkward and combative the way he always did around Castiel, but--

“I would give anything to be back there now,” Castiel says quietly.

With a small, sad smile that Castiel won’t see, Dean says, “Me too.”

Thunder rumbles again, but closer this time. A tree branch groans as it shakes in the wind, and Dean raises his hand to brush rainwater away from his eyes. His boots are starting to slide on the uneven ground, and he guesses Castiel’s are as well, because he slows his pace, taking more careful steps than before.

“You know,” Dean says, raising his voice to be heard over the rising storm, “when I swore my oath as Royal Protector, this wasn’t exactly the type of situation I imagined myself in.”

The first flash of lightning splits the sky and illuminates Castiel’s face as he looks back at Dean. In its harsh light, his face is all angles and shadows, like an old wooden carving or a hasty sketch. “It isn’t meant to be conditional, that oath. The circumstances don’t matter. Only the duty.”

It’s hard to tell over the creaking trees and the driving rain, but he sounds almost-- disappointed? Not angry, but resigned. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean growls. “I never said I was turning around and heading back to the palace. I’m still here, same as you.” His growl turns to a grumble. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

“What?” Castiel yells. He makes a frustrated gesture and beckons Dean closer, pausing so that he can close the gap between them. 

“I said it doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Dean repeats as he draws up beside Castiel. “I hate everything about this, alright? I hate not knowing where Claire is, wondering if we’re just wandering around in these fucking trees. Wondering if maybe we’re going in circles this entire time, or if those flowers were a trick and they’ve actually gone south after all. I hate not even knowing if they’re on their own or with some assholes who kidnapped them, and whether Claire’s old fear of storms is coming back.” His throat suddenly tight, Dean shakes his head fiercely. “I hate--”

His hand is on his sword before he even realizes it, and the next thing he knows, it’s buried in the trunk of the closest tree. Dean’s chest is heaving, his heart pounding, and he’s no longer certain that the wetness on his cheeks is just from the rain.

“I hate not being there for her,” he says, closing his eyes. 

There’s a long pause, and then-- “Do you also hate that tree?”

Dean opens his eyes and scowls at Castiel, who’s watching him warily, like he might have to suddenly defend himself from Dean’s next swing. “No,” Dean says shortly. “But I really needed to hit something.”

“Thank you for not choosing me,” Castiel says drily, and despite his frustration, Dean chokes back a laugh.

“You’re welcome.” Grunting, Dean manages to pull his sword free of the tree’s solid trunk and replace it in his scabbard. Once that’s done, he glances up at Castiel and swallows heavily. “Sorry about that. I just--”

Slowly, Castiel nods. “You don’t do well with waiting, with the unknown, with a threat you can’t identify. You’ll charge off to slay the dragon without hesitation, but you prefer to know it’s a dragon that you’re facing first.”

Dean blinks at him. “Yes. Exactly. How did you--”

The corners of Castiel’s lips curl upwards, just slightly. “I told you before, Winchester. You aren’t exactly subtle.”

An amused snort escapes Dean before he can reel it back. “And you’re as enigmatic as ever. So I guess we make a pretty good pair.”

Lightning flashes again, and Castiel’s eyes glow bright in its light. He sighs, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead, and jerks his head northward. “Shall we?”

Dean has the distinct feeling that wasn’t what Castiel was originally going to say, but he shrugs and takes a careful step forward, hyper-aware of the way the ground might suddenly shift under his feet. 

Visibility is poorer than ever, and their earlier conversation falters, both of them too focused on where they’re placing their feet to wander down memory lane. Besides, anything they said would just be drowned out by the storm. The rumble and crack of thunder echo through Dean’s bones, and his sturdy leather vest isn’t doing much to keep his linen undershirt dry. 

Brushing rain away from his face for what feels like the thousandth time, Dean squints into the darkness ahead. There’s a flash of light that doesn’t seem to be coming from the sky, something glittering ahead and slightly to their left. “Castiel,” he murmurs, laying his hand on the other man’s arm. “Look.”

Castiel pauses, eyes narrowing. His hand goes to the hilt of the sword, and Dean knows they’re thinking the same thing: it could be light reflecting off a blade. 

Dean holds a finger to his lips and takes small, silent steps. At his side, Castiel moves like a ghost, almost floating above the forest floor. The strange flicker appears again, but now that they’re closer, Dean can see it isn’t a weapon at all.

Tucked against the base of a sturdy oak at the top of a small rise, it looks like an ordinary stone, no larger than Dean’s fist, but it glows with an eerie light. Castiel makes a small, surprised noise and bends down towards it, hand outstretched, and Dean snaps to attention.

“Castiel, don’t--” he shouts. Castiel turns, expression puzzled, but his hand still reaches for the stone.

Acting on pure instinct, Dean grabs him around the waist and hauls him back. Castiel stumbles on a patch of uneven ground, losing his footing, and throws his arm over Dean’s shoulder to steady himself.

His eyes are wide and wild, dark hair even darker from the rain, and his lips are parted in surprise as he stares into Dean’s face. They’re pressed together from head to toe, and their soaked clothing is a flimsy barrier between them. Dean can feel the tension in every one of Castiel’s well-developed muscles, can feel the pounding of his heart in his chest, can see the pulse jumping in his neck.

“What--” Castiel says weakly.

Slowly, reluctantly, Dean drops his hands from Castiel’s solid waist, but he doesn’t step back. “It’s enchanted,” he says, eyes flicking back to the small, innocuous stone. “I don’t know what it might do, but--”

“Enchanted,” Castiel repeats flatly. Dean can see the wheels spinning behind his eyes as he puts the pieces together. “You said you didn’t believe in magic.”

Dean laughs bitterly. “I lied.”

Finally withdrawing, Dean looks up at the sky and exhales shakily. He doesn’t know how far north they are, exactly, but now he knows there’s magic involved, somehow, and he’s going to have to do a lot of explaining. Careful explaining, with strategic pieces of information, enough for Castiel to grasp the situation without grasping other things.

“Winchester.”

Dean looks back to meet Castiel’s puzzled, troubled face, and that’s when his boot strikes something solid. He has just enough time to glance down, to see the shimmer against the muddy ground, before the spell takes hold.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, and everything goes black.


	8. Chapter 8

He knows something is wrong as soon as he regains consciousness. The tingling aftereffects of the spell are still coursing through his body, but his body is-- different, somehow. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, and that’s when he knows he’s in real trouble. His eyesight is sharper than usual, particularly his peripheral vision, which is how he’s so quickly aware of the large, looming shape off to his right.

Instinct takes over, and Dean backs away. On four tiny, nimble, claw-tipped paws.

A squirrel. The enchanted stone turned him into a squirrel.

Chittering rapidly, he darts back towards the towering figure he now recognizes as Castiel. At least his human memories and instincts are still present, even if he can’t seem to communicate. He’s fairly certain Castiel is clever enough to make the connection between Dean’s disappearance and the extremely vocal rodent charging towards his boots. 

A large hand descends from above and gently scoops him up. Dean stays almost perfectly still, but his large tail twitches nervously as Castiel raises him to eye level. “Winchester?” he asks, eyes wide and wary. 

In response, Dean nips at the pad of his thumb.

“That’s you alright,” Castiel mutters. This close, Dean can see the lines of exhaustion around his eyes, the faint scratch across his cheek where a branch must have sliced into him. “This is unfortunate.”

That’s putting it mildly. Dean has no idea how long this transformation will last. It’s not a type of magic he’s familiar with, and the thought of being stuck in squirrel form forever would be horrifying on the best of days. But now, with Claire in danger--

He’s useless. Worse than useless, he’s actively hindering the mission, distracting Castiel from their purpose. 

Castiel looks up at the sky, still spitting rain though the thunder seems to be fading, and sighs. “I didn’t have a plan for this. I don’t--” He breaks off, glancing down at Dean. “We might as well stop here for the night. If we’re very lucky, I’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll be back to normal.”

Dean really hopes he’s right. He leaps down from Castiel’s hand and races across the forest floor, impressed at the capabilities of his new, miniature body. He can see the first enchanted stone, and he reaches it within seconds. He halts, nose twitching as he considers the consequences, then taps the stone lightly with one paw. 

Nothing happens.

He doesn’t really know what he expected. That it might somehow reverse the spell? Or turn him into something different, something more practical like a horse or a wolf or even a regular dog? Clicking in disappointment, he scampers around the surrounding area, searching for more glittering stones, but even with his sharp sight, he finds nothing.

At least it means Castiel is unlikely to accidentally roll over one in his sleep and join Dean in his predicament.

“Scouting the perimeter?” Castiel asks, one corner of his mouth turned upwards. “Thank you.”

Dean chirps in reply. He has a feeling he’s going to get frustrated with his inability to speak very soon. 

Castiel beckons him forward. “Let’s find a place to make camp.” 

Just on the other side of the rise, there’s a fallen tree, not as large as the one they cleared from the road all those years ago but still tall enough, even on its side, to provide some shelter. Castiel nods in satisfaction and drops his satchel to the ground with a sigh. Laying down a cloth to keep off the worst of the mud, he folds his body down and rests his back against the dead tree, closing his eyes.

Dean runs along the length of the tree and perches near Castiel’s shoulder, wishing he could say something, anything, but all he can do is chirp and click. 

Castiel opens his eyes and glares at Dean. It’s such a familiar expression that Dean wishes he could smile, but it would probably look stupid on his tiny squirrel face. Instead, he hops down from the tree and tugs at the strap of the satchel. Castiel needs to eat, to keep up his strength, and damned if Dean isn’t going to make sure he does just that.

“Hungry?” Castiel asks. “I am too.” He offers some of the cooked fish from the night before to Dean, but Dean backs away. He might not be able to do much in this form, but he can find his own food. It’s one way, at least, he can avoid being a burden.

He darts away into the low bushes surrounding the fallen tree, his sensitive nose twitching at the scent of something sweet. He follows the trail to a berry bush, the fruit damp and ripe from the rain, and lets animal instinct take over. Once his belly is full, he scampers back towards Castiel, who looks up from his own meal at Dean’s reappearance.

“I thought you ran off.” He stares at Dean for a moment, brow furrowed. “You know me, don’t you? Even in this form?”

Dean lets out a sharp bark he hopes Castiel interprets as a yes.

Castiel shakes his head slowly. “This is absurd. Just like something out of the old tales.” He laughs, but Dean can hear the bitterness in it. “Does this make me the hero, and you the quirky sidekick?”

Dean can’t fault his logic in assigning those roles, but he refuses to be anyone’s sidekick, logic be damned. Leaping forward, he chews on the laces of Castiel’s jerkin, staring him defiantly in the eye while he does.

Castiel tugs his foot away, rolling his eyes. “I see your contrariness hasn’t shrunk in keeping with your stature.” Sighing, he stretches himself out along the ground, his left side pressed up against the fallen tree. “Let’s just pretend you’ve volunteered to take first watch, shall we?”

His eyes slip closed, and his breathing slowly evens out. Dean scrambles up to the top of the fallen log and perches there on his hind paws, tail twitching as he catalogues every sound that whispers through the forest. The rain is finally slowing, but still spatters occasionally against the surface of the log. 

Now that the initial shock has passed, Dean has to consider what comes next. If he doesn’t wake up human tomorrow, they have no way of knowing how long the spell will last. They could continue to push north, but now they know there’s a magic user who frequents this stretch of this forest, and Dean doesn’t want to leave Castiel alone against a potential enemy with so much power. Turning back simply isn’t an option. They’ve come too far already.

They could turn east. By Dean’s calculations, they’ve moved further north than his family’s farm, but at least there they would be supported. Either Sam or his mother would be able to help, he’s sure of it.

Something hovers in the back of Dean’s mind, a memory that flashes through his brain like the last bursts of lightning in the sky above. Something his mother mentioned, long ago, but the details escape him. 

Chittering softly to himself, Dean picks his way down the gnarled bark of the tree. Castiel has the right idea: there’s little else they can do tonight, so they may as well rest while they can. The night air is cool after the rain, and despite his new fur, Dean feels it in his tiny bones. As gently as he can, he curls himself up in the crook of Castiel’s arm, wrapping his tail around himself like a blanket. Castiel stirs slightly but doesn’t wake as Dean points his little face out into the night to keep watch.

The first thing Dean sees when he wakes the next morning is the brush of his own tail, wrapped around his still squirrel-shaped body. Cursing isn’t nearly as satisfying when he can’t actually vocalize the words, but it still makes him feel slightly better to run through the list of the most vicious words he can find. Once that’s out of his system, he uncurls himself and scampers up Castiel’s arm to peer into his face.

“Good morning,” Castiel croaks. Perched on Castiel’s chest, Dean can feel the rumble of that voice shudder through his entire body. “I see it wasn’t a bad dream after all.”

Slowly, as if afraid Dean is suddenly going to bite him-- which isn’t entirely unreasonable, Dean admits-- Castiel holds out his hand. Dean climbs onto it with all the condescension of Queen Amelia offering her hand to some of the more oily courtiers and allows Castiel to gently deposit him back on the fallen tree. With Dean out of the way, Castiel climbs to his feet and stretches, rolling out his neck and bending down with enviable grace to touch the tips of his boots. 

Dean busies himself brushing his fur with his nimble paws, wondering if he’s any more successful at acting nonchalant as a squirrel than he is as a human. 

After a few minutes, Castiel sighs, drawing Dean’s attention back to him. He has his hands planted on his hips and a scowl on his face as he stares off into the trees, the rising sun casting just enough weak light to see by. 

“I think we have to continue north,” he says. “I’ve racked my brain for other options, but”-- he shrugs-- “I have no other information to go on. All we know is that somewhere in this area, there is or was a magic user. If I can just find them, maybe they can tell me if Claire and Jack have passed nearby.” 

Considering the utter lack of clues they’ve found since they left the main road, it’s a reasonable plan. But Dean still doesn’t like the idea of Castiel wandering around in an enchanter’s woods, alone and unprepared. He didn’t even recognize the stones as enchanted, and Dean can’t pull him back from further trouble in this tiny form. 

They have to turn east. There’s no reason to suspect Jack and Claire and their potential kidnappers went that way, but the trail north has gone cold, and either way they’ll be wandering through the woods without real purpose. At least if they make it to Dean’s family, they can turn him human again. 

Dean leaps down from the tree trunk and points himself towards the rising sun. Stretching out one paw, he lets out what he hopes is an authoritative bark. 

At least it draws Castiel’s attention. “East?” he asks, his frown deepening. “Why would we--” Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his face, then looks down at Dean with narrowed eyes. “You recognized that there was a spell on those stones. There’s something you didn’t tell me, and now you can’t. And you want me to trust you, when you can’t even make up a convincing lie to explain why we should turn from our path?”

He’s right to be doubtful. Dean would be too, if the situation were reversed. He’s asking a lot of Castiel, but he knows it’s the right thing to do. If Castiel won’t come with him--

“Fine.” The tension drains from Castiel’s body as he sighs. “Clearly, you know something that I don’t.” Adjusting the strap on his satchel, he takes a decisive step towards Dean, then another. “Lead the way, Winchester.”

With an eager chirp, Dean scrambles up the trunk of the nearest tree. It’s faster for him to climb over branches and leap from tree to tree than it is to continue along the ground, and there’s a certain thrill to exploring the capabilities of this new body. 

He glances down occasionally to make sure Castiel is keeping pace, and sometimes catches him looking up into the trees as though checking to make sure Dean is still there. Every time, a funny little grimace crosses his face, like he can’t believe he had to be saddled with an even worse version of Dean. 

After a whole morning of this, the guilt becomes too much to bear. Dean climbs higher into the trees, where the leaves are thicker, hiding him from Castiel’s sight. He can still hear him moving below, and they’re both heading steadily eastwards, but at least this way Dean isn’t constantly reminding him how messed up the situation is.

It’s while Dean is preoccupied looking down to spot Castiel’s dark head through the leaves that he feels a rush of air pass over his body. Twisting on his branch, he chitters sharply as a hawk swoops over him again, talons outstretched. Dean’s tiny heart pounds wildly in his chest as he leaps closer to the tree’s trunk, scrambling away from those viciously curved talons and sharp eyes. 

The hawk screeches, still too close for comfort, and Dean freezes on the tree trunk, claws dug deeply into the wood. He’s certain that if he moves, he’ll be done for. What an undignified way to go out: a snack for a hawk. He’s still debating his next move, wondering how quickly he can scamper down to the forest floor, when something flies past the branch and the hawk screeches again, less in triumph than in outrage.

Cautiously, Dean inches down the trunk for a better view. Castiel stands with his feet planted widely, jaw clenched as he throws a small stone up into the air where the hawk wheels. It dodges to avoid being struck, still making that terrible sound that has Dean’s fur standing up on end, but after a few more carefully-aimed stones, it soars away in search of less well-defended prey.

“You can come out now,” Castiel says, eyes flicking towards the tree where Dean remains hidden. “It’s gone.”

Moving with all his speed, Dean runs along a nearby branch and leaps down onto Castiel’s shoulder. Startled, Castiel tenses, but slowly relaxes as Dean stops moving, his claws dug into the leather strap of the satchel for grip. His heart is still pounding, his tail twitching with adrenaline, and a steady stream of chirps and clicks escapes him.

Tentatively, Castiel raises his hand and strokes one finger down Dean’s back. “It’s alright,” he says, his deep voice rumbling soothingly in Dean’s ears. “You’re safe now.”

The gentle pressure of Castiel’s finger soothes Dean’s panic. As his heartbeat settles and his fright fades, shame creeps in to replace it. He can’t talk, he can’t hold a sword, he can’t even be left on his own without ending up in mortal peril and needing to be rescued. Letting out a soft cheep, he tries to scramble down into Castiel’s satchel to hide away from the judgment he’s sure to see on his face.

Instead, Castiel places his hand over the flap of the bag, keeping it firmly closed. “None of that,” he says, with just enough sternness in his voice that Dean pauses. “I believe it would be for the best if you stuck close to me, but there’s still a way we can look out for each other.”

He waits until Dean has crawled back up his arm to continue. “You know more about magic than I do, obviously.” 

Dean chirps in response. That much is clear.

“So, you stay right here”-- Castiel gently pushes Dean into place on his shoulder-- “and if I’m about to walk into a trap, warn me.” His nose crinkles up. “Preferably without biting.”

Dean’s tail twitches as he considers it. Maybe he can’t pull Castiel away from danger like he did before, or throw himself into its path, but that doesn’t mean he can’t guide him around any potential spells in other ways. Sitting up, he lets out another chirp, and points his head forward like a tiny sentinel.

“That’s settled, then.” There’s definite amusement in Castiel’s voice. “Oh, and Winchester? If you swear you’ll never tell anyone that I let you ride on my shoulder, I swear I’ll never tell anyone you almost got eaten by a hawk.”

The forest stretches on, seemingly endless, as they make their way east. Dean keeps careful watch from his perch on Castiel’s shoulder, but by mid-afternoon, his nervous energy is starting to fade. They’ve encountered no sign of either Jack, Claire, or the magic user whose spell turned Dean into a squirrel. On the other hand, they haven’t stumbled into any more magical traps, so Dean supposes they should count themselves lucky.

Castiel has been quiet, focused on clearing his way through the tangle of branches and roots, but from his position, Dean can see the tension behind his eyes, the grim determination in the set of his jaw. He’s clearly unhappy with their current path, and Dean can’t really blame him for it. He finds himself casting longing looks northwards as well, wondering if each step is taking them further and further away from Jack and Claire. 

It almost startles Dean into losing his grip on Castiel’s jerkin when he suddenly speaks. “I have no idea where we are,” he says. “The northeastern fringe of the forest, I suppose, but”-- he looks sideways at Dean-- “what that means, I don’t know.”

Dean chirps at him. It’s both an inquiry and encouragement, and fortunately, Castiel is able to decipher it. 

He takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’re about as far away from home as we can be. For me, at least.” A strange smile hovers around his lips. “You asked me if I grew up near the forest. I did. At the southwestern corner, in a small house just at the edge of the woods. I was wandering through the trees and fishing in its streams as far back as I can remember.”

Dean holds himself perfectly still, fascinated. He’s afraid if he moves, Castiel will stop talking. He doesn’t know what prompted this sudden volunteering of personal information, but he’s captivated already, imagining a small, serious, blue-eyed child playing in the woods.

“I used to watch the Royal Guards come riding past in their crisp uniforms, with their banners snapping in the breeze, and I thought they were the most magnificent thing I’d ever seen. So I trained with sticks from the forest as quarterstaffs and used slingshots to improve my aim and climbed trees to learn balance and agility. The forest was my training ground and my teacher all in one.”

Surely, he must have had a human teacher as well. Or at least someone to bandage his callused hands after long days of whacking sticks around and scraping his palms raw on rough tree bark. But Castiel doesn’t mention anyone, and Dean is left to wonder.

“This shouldn’t be so hard.” Castiel brushes a trailing vine out of his path with more force than is likely necessary. “I’m trained for every situation. I know everything there is to know about forestry, about tracking, about surviving these sorts of conditions. Everything I’ve done, everything I am, has led me to this place, and now that I’m here--”

He closes his eyes, and Dean can see his throat move as he swallows roughly. “I can’t fail.”

It’s a feeling Dean knows all too well. He creeps slightly closer to Castiel’s face and lets out his softest cheep. 

Castiel opens his eyes and directs a wry smile at Dean. “If you asked me before we set out, I gladly would have ridden here on my own. But now that you’re--” he gestures vaguely at Dean’s new body--”like this, I confess I find myself missing the old you.”

Dean makes a noise that he hopes conveys his surprise. It’s true that Castiel has unbent slightly over the past few days, but Dean still wouldn’t have expected such a declaration from him.

Sighing, Castiel scrubs a hand over his face. “It is easier to talk to you like this, though. Maybe too easy.” Turning his head, he squints at the position of the sun behind them. “We have a few hours of daylight left. Let’s make the most of them.”

Still slightly stunned, Dean adjusts his position on Castiel’s shoulder and turns his gaze forward. He has a lot of questions, but no voice to make them heard. He only has half-forgotten memories of magic and a fool’s hope that just like in one of those old stores, this will all turn out well in the end.

By the time they stop for the night, Dean estimates they’re almost halfway to the eastern edge of the woods. There was one time he saw the glint of something magical off to their left, but they were in no danger of coming within its reach, so he didn’t bother to alert Castiel.

He does thoroughly inspect the area Castiel has chosen to make camp, leaping down from his shoulder to dig through the loamy forest floor and peer under roots and stones to ensure Castiel won’t join him in animal form-- or worse. Castiel watches him, hands planted on his hips, and the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “All clear?”

Dean sits up and barks. Castiel nods gravely and offers him a crisp salute. “Thank you, Winchester. At ease.”

With a sigh, Castiel puts down his pack and sinks to the ground, one knee bent and the other leg outstretched. He rummages in the bag and pulls out the last of the fish. He offers some to Dean again, but aware of the dwindling supply, Dean scampers off to find his own meal. 

His sensitive nose leads him to a buried cache of nuts not far away from Castiel’s campsite. With a mental apology to the real squirrel whose food he’s stealing, Dean makes his way through about half of them before moving on to a nearby berry bush. Satisfied, he scrubs sticky juice away from his face and paws and scurries back to where he left Castiel.

He’s sitting in the same pose as before, one hand braced behind himself, but the other is toying with something at chest level. Dean approaches cautiously, making an inquisitive chirp, and Castiel glances up, startled.

“I keep forgetting,” he says softly. “There’s”-- a careful pause-- “a great deal on my mind.”

Dean moves closer, sitting upright between Castiel’s hand and his thigh. He can just see the lines of his face in the fading light, but he’s close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. Resisting the urge to creep even closer, he cocks his head at an angle and chirps again. 

Castiel looks down at him and half-smiles. “There’s something about the vastness of this forest, isn’t there? It makes you feel so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but that can be freeing. It can make you reconsider your place in the world, and what you want out of it.”

His voice drops to a murmur, barely loud enough for Dean to hear him. “It’s something I’ve struggled with, that notion of belonging.” He moves his hand slightly, and Dean can finally see what he’s been toying with: a heavy gold ring, dangling from the chain around his neck. 

“This belonged to my great-grandfather,” Castiel continues. “I never knew him, but it was passed down through the family.” Reaching behind himself, he unclasps the chain and dangles the ring in front of Dean. “Do you recognize it?”

Dean stretches out his clever paws to inspect the ring more closely. It’s solid gold, rubbed smooth by countless touches, but he would know the royal crest of Anatiac anywhere.

Chittering rapidly, he backs away. That crest can only be worn by members of the royal family. If it belonged to Castiel’s great-grandfather--

“What stories do they tell about King Cain in Anatiac, I wonder?” There’s a slight edge of bitterness to Castiel’s voice now. “He was a good ruler? He was wise and fair? But no one ever speaks of his first love, the woman he might have married if not for royal duty. The woman he loved his entire life, who walked away from him even though it broke her heart, because she was a farm girl and he was a prince, and by the time she knew she was carrying his child, he was betrothed to another.”

A shiver runs through Dean’s body. He’s never heard even a whisper about King Cain having a secret child. He doesn’t doubt Castiel’s story for an instant, though. There’s too much raw pain in his voice for it to be anything but true. 

“She crossed the forest and made her home in Dysland. In time, her daughter grew up and married a local blacksmith, and they kept their family’s secrets until it was time for them to pass on the ring and its history.” Castiel loops the chain around his neck but leaves the ring dangling free over his jerkin. “There was a terrible sickness, the year I turned sixteen. Before my father died, he gave me the ring and told me Cain and Colette’s story. After he was gone, my mother didn’t last much longer. I took the ring and my best quarterstaff and set off for the palace.” A small laugh shakes his body. “For all his faults, King Lucien saw something in me. The desperate need for purpose, for place. Maybe he thought he could turn that to his advantage somehow. He appointed me Sworn Protector to Prince Jack, and finally, I felt that I belonged.”

For all that he’s fascinated by the tale, Dean feels the first stirring of guilt as Castiel reveals so much of himself. He said he’d almost forgotten about Dean’s squirrel form-- has he also forgotten that Dean can understand him perfectly well? Dean has no interest in an invasion of privacy, even an accidental one.

Cheeping softly, he places his forepaws on Castiel’s thigh and digs his claws in, just enough to be felt through the fabric. A reminder that he’s there, and that he’s listening. 

Castiel looks down at him and shakes his head. “It was good, for a time.” There’s nothing else Dean can do to stop his confession, so he stays quiet and bears witness to it as best he can. “Jack has always been a delight. It is my honour and my privilege to serve him. When the first overtures were made, the prospect of an alliance with Anatiac, I was so thrilled to accompany him there. To see the land my great-grandfather once ruled.”

Dean perks up. This is a part of the story he knows. But judging by the way Castiel’s jaw has tightened, it isn’t a pleasant memory. 

“The first time she saw me, Queen Amelia turned so white I feared she would faint. She has excellent composure, though, as I’m sure you’re aware, and she managed to be cordial through the introductions. When they were done, she dismissed everyone except for me and Princess Claire.”

Dean remembers this. Remembers casting a curious look at Castiel as he left the throne room, struck by how much he resembled the late king. He hadn’t bothered to wonder why. He’d assumed the queen had something to discuss about Jack, some concerned motherly inquiries about whether he would be a respectful husband. 

“I told them the truth. How could I not?” Castiel shrugs. “They both looked at me as though they’d seen a ghost of someone they loved. They were shocked, of course, but surprisingly understanding.” A flash of anger sparks in his eyes. “Unlike the rest of the court, who never quite dared ask me why I resemble their late king so greatly, but never took care to hide their whispers from me either.”

Shame, hot and fierce, wells up in Dean. While he might not have participated in those whispered conversations and intrusive glances, he had wondered. And he’d never stopped others from doing so more rudely. 

“And so Anatiac wasn’t what I hoped it would be either,” Castiel says, exhaling deeply. “Now here we are, in this forest that stretches between two lands, just like my family does, and I feel--”

He closes his eyes, the sweep of his lashes dark against his cheeks. “Untethered,” he says eventually. “No kingdom, no prince to protect.” He opens his eyes and smiles wryly down at Dean. “You were a constant, at least. And now--” He gestures at Dean’s body and sighs. 

Before he can think it through, Dean scrambles up Castiel’s arm and curls into the place where his neck meets his shoulder. _I’m still here_ , he wishes he could say. _You’re not alone_.

Castiel freezes under him, then huffs a laugh. “Enough sentimentality for one night, I think,” he murmurs. But he strokes a gentle finger down Dean’s back and moves slowly as he stretches out on the ground, careful not to dislodge him. 

Dean remains awake long after Castiel’s breathing has turned deep and even, too many conflicting emotions and memories for this small body to contain coursing through him.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel is quiet the next morning. He eats breakfast efficiently and packs up his things with no wasted movements. A few days ago, Dean might have interpreted this mood as surliness, but knowing what he knows now, he can see the exhaustion, both emotional and physical, in every line of Castiel’s body.

He wonders how long it’s been since Castiel shared his story with anyone else. Dean knows a thing or two about keeping something close to your chest, and the strange weightlessness that comes with sharing it. _Untethered_ , Castiel described himself. If Dean can’t keep him grounded, he might lose him completely.

It’s far from the first time he’s made a fool of himself in front of Castiel. And at least this time he’s doing it deliberately. 

As Castiel sets out towards the rising sun, Dean scampers playfully around his ankles, dodging his steps with ease. Castiel curses under his breath, but when Dean runs off to climb a nearby tree and dangle from its branches right in front of his face, he catches on.

Rolling his eyes, he beckons Dean down. “I appreciate your efforts to cheer me up. But we really don’t want a repeat of the hawk situation, do we?”

Dean’s tail twitches nervously at the thought. Slowly, he climbs back down the tree trunk until he’s level with Castiel’s shoulder and takes up his usual perch, chittering softly as he does. Castiel shakes his head, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, and that’s good enough for Dean.

“Amusing as this is, I really do hope we can find a way to change you back soon,” Castiel says. “I’m sure you’re quite sick of walking on four legs.”

Dean barks in agreement. If he really tries to take a positive view, he supposes things could be worse. He could be a fish, stuck in one of the forest streams and potentially ending up as someone’s meal. He could be a bug, or something like a rock or a tree. Out of all the options for magical transformation, a squirrel ranks somewhere in the middle. He could have been something fierce like a wolf, or at least practical like a horse-- though he doesn’t know how he would avoid the inevitable awkwardness of having Castiel ride him. 

“I doubt whoever placed the enchantment on those rocks truly meant harm,” Castiel continues. “If so, they could have just killed you outright. It gives me hope that if we do find them, I can reason with them. Get them to change you back.” He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Of course, there’s always a price, in the old stories, but we aren’t entirely without resources. I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.”

Dean cheeps in alarm. He wants to be human again, of course, but not at the cost of Castiel’s freedom or his first-born child or whatever else the magical price might be. Magic is about balance, his mother always used to say, but humans are often unbridled and thoughtless, which is how mistakes get made.

He remembers his alarm at the idea of magical mistakes: plants growing so large they would block out the sun, a spell for mending that produced a dozen torn shirts rather than one in good repair, a healing enchantment that somehow permanently altered his body. 

As quick and brilliant as a lightning strike, he remembers something else: his mother’s soothing hand on his head, her warm voice telling him not to worry, because the goldengrace berry could counteract most spells cast upon humans.

Dean leaps down from Castiel’s shoulder and takes off at a run. He hears Castiel’s alarmed yelp but ignores it, too busy cursing his treacherous memory. Why couldn’t he have remembered this the day before? They’ve lost so much time already, and strayed so far from the last path they believed Jack and Claire to be on.

He has no evidence that the goldengrace berry will work on his curse. It takes a great deal of magic to imbue an inanimate object with a spell, enough that the berry might not be able to undo it. Still, he has to try.

Castiel crashes through the forest, calling out for him, and Dean spares one glance his way before continuing his search. He wishes he could explain so Castiel could help him look, but communication isn’t exactly his forte at the moment. Speed and dexterity are reasonably high on his list of skills, though, and he puts them both to good use as he darts through the trees, hoping the early morning sun will glint off the small, distinctively-coloured berries.

“Winchester, what are you doing?” Castiel has caught up to him, eyes narrowed as he glares down at Dean. “Oh, no. The spell is adapting, isn’t it? You’ve lost your human mind.”

It’s not an unreasonable assumption, but Dean still resents it. He sits up on his forepaws and chitters angrily, trying to convey some of his urgency.

Of course, Castiel interprets this as the defensive sounds of a wild creature. Quicker than Dean can scurry away, he darts out a hand and grabs Dean around the middle. “I am not losing you,” he says through gritted teeth. “We are going to find a way to fix this.”

As if that isn’t exactly what Dean is trying to do. Making a mental note to apologize later, he sinks his sharp teeth into Castiel’s palm. Instinctively, his hand unclenches as he lets out a startled gasp, and Dean is free.

Pushing aside his guilt as Castiel calls after him, he races back through the undergrowth, racking his brain for anything else his mother mentioned about goldengrace. It only grows in the north, a remnant from a more magical time, and can often be found near a fallen tree. 

It might even have been growing right where they camped that first night. Dean could have saved himself all this trouble, and never had the terrifying experience of almost being a hawk snack. Darting up a nearby tree, he scours the surrounding area, tail pointing straight up like a banner. He can distantly hear Castiel below, but his eyes catch on something off to the south, and he scrambles back down to investigate further. 

On the other side of a tangle of low ferns, he finds the jumbled roots of a fallen tree. Dean runs down the length of its trunk, hope rising in his chest, and there, nearly buried under moss and dead leaves, he finds the first goldengrace berry.

He shoves it into his mouth without further thought. There’s no immediate effect, so he eats another, and then a third. The berries are both sweet and tart, their juice spilling all over his paws. He’s just about to pluck a fourth when a loud noise distracts him and he whirls around to see Castiel crashing towards him.

His chest is heaving, and he looks positively murderous. Dean’s first instinct is to flee, but he’s finally found a potential cure and he isn’t about to lose this chance. Defiantly, he sinks his teeth into the fourth berry. 

“Unbelievable,” Castiel mutters, approaching slowly. “Running off just to find a meal.”

Dean would object, but there’s a strange tingling sensation starting in his paws and the tips of his ears. He lets out a squirrel sneeze as the feeling spreads to his tail and his torso. Closing his eyes, he feels the tingling course through his entire body, almost like the buzz of too much ale, and then everything goes white.

When he opens his eyes, he’s met with Castiel’s look of pure shock.

“Oh fuck, please tell me I’m not naked,” Dean blurts out. Glancing down, he’s assured to see his clothes somehow survived the transformation-- he’ll worry about the skill level of the enchanter involved later-- and breathes a sigh of relief. 

Castiel is still staring at him, mingled hope and disbelief on his face. “Winchester?”

“In the human flesh.” Dean grins at him, flexing his hands and cracking his shoulders just to feel the usual muscles and sinews working again. Which reminds him--

“Sorry for biting you,” he says.

Castiel waves aside his apology, eyes darting between Dean and the goldengrace berry bush. “Those berries-- they turned you back?”

“Yeah.” Dean scratches the back of his neck as he considers them. “Might not be a bad idea to pick them and have them with us. They can undo a lot of spells, and we don’t know what else we’re going to run into.” He winces as a thought strikes him. “Or what Jack and Claire might have run into.”

Looking back at Castiel, he doesn’t see the anticipated agreement on his face. Instead, his jaw is clenched, his eyes sparking. “You lied about magic,” he says tightly.

Dean takes a step back, unprepared for his level of hostility. “Is this really the time to--”

“Yes, I think it is!” Castiel shouts. “You’ve been keeping secrets this entire time.”

At that, Dean’s own anger flares. “And you haven’t?” he shoots back. “I’m sorry I got turned into a squirrel and couldn’t tell you my entire life story in exchange for yours. Should I bow and scrape and grovel now, Your Highness?”

“That’s different.” Castiel glares at him. “It’s private, it’s personal. It’s not information that could affect the mission.”

Dean opens his mouth, angry retort springing to his lips, then closes it again. Castiel might have a point. Dean really can’t see how his family’s history is relevant to their rescue, and he knows how much effort it took Castiel to open up. 

Maybe it’s time he shows the same amount of trust.

Sighing deeply, he sinks onto the fallen log and stares down at his hands. “Look. I didn’t tell you about magic because it’s also personal.”

Risking a look in Castiel’s direction, he sees more confusion on his face than anything else. “I don’t have any skill myself,” he continues. “But my mother does. And so does my brother.”

Castiel is nothing if not clever. A slight frown crosses his face before his eyes widen in understanding. “You were protecting them.”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles wryly and shrugs. “You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?”

Slowly, Castiel takes a step forward and joins Dean on the fallen tree. “You wanted to go east to find them. So they could help you?”

Dean nods.

“And the berries?”

“I only just remembered them.” Dean shakes his head, disgusted with himself. “If I’d thought of it sooner--”

“Don’t.” Castiel raises one hand to cut him off. “It isn’t worth going down that road. You figured it out.” He goes quiet for a moment, then says, “Thank you.”

Dean gives him a sidelong look. “For what? For fixing my own dumb mistake?”

“No.” Castiel refuses to meet his eyes, staring down at his hands instead. “For pulling me back. I would have picked up that stone without a second thought and then--”

Tentatively, Dean slides along the log and bumps Castiel’s shoulder with his own. “I would have fought off that hawk for you too, you know.”

Castiel raises his head and smiles. “I know.”

A heartbeat passes, and another. Dean hastily drops his eyes as the intensity of Castiel’s stare becomes too much, and that’s when he notices the ring around his neck has come free of his shirt, probably disturbed by Castiel chasing after him. 

Dean clears his throat and jerks his chin towards it. “Hey. Uh. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know any of that. I tried to warn you, but--”

“It’s fine.” Castiel shrugs. “I knew you could hear me. And understand me. You offered to listen, remember?”

“Yeah, but that isn’t the same as--”

Castiel’s whole body moves with the force of his eye-roll. “Winchester. It’s fine.” His voice softens as he shrugs again. “It isn’t easy for me to talk about. But I don’t regret it.”

Dean isn’t quite sure how to reply to that. The implications are far-reaching, and he’s still adjusting to being human again. They have a number of other things they need to figure out before he can deal with that.

He clears his throat and nudges Castiel’s boot. “Well. Since I figured it out on my own, eventually, I guess we don’t need to keep heading east.”

Castiel hums thoughtfully. “I suppose not.”

Dean stands and stretches his arms over his head. Then, holding his breath, he offers a hand to pull Castiel up. “North?”

A second passes, or maybe an eternity. Castiel places his hand in Dean’s, his palm warm and callused, and lets himself be pulled to his feet. “North,” he agrees.

Dean isn’t surprised when, not even ten minutes after they’ve set off, Castiel gives him a sidelong look and says, “So. Magic.”

It’s clear it took all of his considerable willpower to wait even that long. Dean bites back a smile and keeps his answer deliberately vague. “Yeah.”

Castiel waits a beat, then sighs as if he should have known better. “Tell me about it,” he orders. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” Dean admits. “It’s just something that was always there, growing up.”

“But you didn’t remember about the berries for several days.”

Dean whips his head around, scowling, but Castiel holds his hands up to ward him off. “I’m not trying to be judgmental.”

“Oh, I know. It comes naturally.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m just trying to understand.”

Exhaling slowly, Dean tries to get his thoughts in order. “I used to think it was something all mothers could do, because that’s how my mom used it most of the time. The first time I can remember her doing magic was using a spell to clean up the milk that Sam spilled. He was just a baby, so I must have been about four or so, and I spent days trying to get my toy soldiers to move on their own like that mop did, but it didn’t work, of course.”

“Is the gift usually passed between family members?”

Dean shrugs. “It used to be, from what my mother told me. The Campbell family is strong in the old ways because they’re so deeply tied to the land, and because the farm is in the north, the magic lingers. Most of the other old families have moved on, or intermarried with people from the south enough that the gift doesn’t show up very strongly, if at all.”

Castiel frowns. “Your father was from the south, though, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Dean remembers the way his mother touched his face so gently as she explained that not everyone could do what she did, the way his father stood behind her with his arms crossed over his chest. “When it was clear I didn’t have the gift, they figured that was that. The end of the Campbell powers.”

In a softer voice, Castiel says, “But your brother…”

Swallowing roughly, Dean nods. “They should have known, when they named him after my grandfather. Samuel Campbell was one of the last great enchanters of the north. Giving Sam his name was just tempting fate.”

“And naming you after your grandmother wasn’t?”

Dean throws a look at Castiel over his shoulder. “Good memory.”

Castiel inclines his head, a satisfied smile playing around his lips. “Go on.”

It’s hard to keep going when every instinct tells him to stop, to keep quiet on the subject of Sam’s powers, or to downplay them and dismiss them. But Castiel was honest with him last night-- heartbreakingly so-- and if Dean can’t return that honesty, Castiel will never trust him again.

He doesn’t stop to examine why that thought hurts so much.

“We knew Sam had inherited the gift by the time he was three. He could open the jars of his favourite jam without touching it, or make his toy dog chase him around the room. Small, simple, silly things. Mom was so proud.”

His voice falters, and he feels Castiel close the distance between them. He doesn’t reach out to Dean, but his presence is comforting. Steadying. 

There’s so much he could tell, all the beautiful things Sam created with his magic, the spells he worked to protect the house and the farm, the good luck charms he stitched into their father’s uniform on his visits home. Those weren’t enough to save John Winchester from his fate, but Dean never blamed Sam for that. Their father made his own choices.

“He was only twelve.” He can hear the pleading in his own voice, the desperate need for Castiel to understand. “He was trying to cast a spell to bundle the wheat or something like that. The sort of thing he’d been doing for years, just on a bigger scale.”

Castiel’s voice is carefully neutral. “What happened?”

Dean closes his eyes. He can still feel the heat of the flames, hear the panicked shouts of the farmers. “The barn caught fire. Instantly.”

He hears Castiel draw in a sharp breath. “Was there anyone--”

“No.” Dean shakes his head. “Well, no one human. The minute he saw what he’d done, Sam went charging in there to untie the horses. I tried to pull him back, but he was a scrawny little shit and he wiggled free.”

His throat closes up as he remembers chasing after Sam, trying to follow him into the barn, but at sixteen, his shoulders were too broad to squeeze through the gaps between the burning timbers.

“He knocked out the back wall with another burst of magic and got out with the horses that way. I’d never seen my mother so frightened.”

“That must have been terrible.” Castiel shakes his head, eyes wide. “Was your mother able to put out the fire?”

Dean laughs, bitter. “Yeah, but not with magic. We made a bucket chain down to the stream. Her gift was never as strong as Sam’s, but we couldn’t risk him trying to put it out and somehow making it worse.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Glancing over, Dean sees a small frown on Castiel’s face as he works through what Dean has told him. “That’s why you don’t talk about it. You’re afraid that if people knew what Sam had done, they would fear him.”

It’s the simple explanation, and it isn’t untrue, but it isn’t the entire truth either. “Sort of.” Dean stops, turning to face Castiel fully. “That was a long time ago. Within a year, my father was dead, and two years after that I swore my oath to Claire. All of that”-- he sweeps his hand to the east, towards his family’s farm-- “I had to put it behind me. To focus on my duty.”

For the first time, he sees a hint of disapproval on Castiel’s face. “Surely you had a duty to your family as well.”

It would sting more if it wasn’t the same argument Dean has had with himself over and over again. “I did,” he agrees. “And I did it for as long as I could. But I don’t have magic. I helped Sam learn control. I gave him time away from his spells so he could remember how to be a normal kid. But eventually, he needed more than that. Mom was the one who knew about magic, who understood it, even if hers wasn’t as strong.” He breaks off, throat tight. “They didn’t need me anymore.”

The tension fades from Castiel’s shoulders. “So you found someone who did.”

“Pretty much.” Dean raises one eyebrow at him. “Sound familiar?”

Castiel nods, eyes distant. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You deserved to know.”

“For what it’s worth--” Castiel hesitates, looking up briefly before dropping his gaze again-- “I’m beginning to think things don’t always need to be so black and white.”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it with an audible click. “Come on,” he says eventually. “Let’s keep moving.”

He turns Castiel’s last words over in his mind as they continue north. He likes to think he does a decent job balancing his obligations to Claire with those to his family. He sees them as often as he can, and they keep up a lively correspondence in between. But it’s true that he tends to draw a dividing line in his own life, right at the time he swore his oath to Claire. Maybe if he hadn’t worked so hard to keep things so sharply separated, he would have remembered about the goldengrace berries sooner.

It’s clear Castiel senses his unusually pensive mood, because he doesn’t ask Dean any more questions throughout the afternoon. Newly invigorated by having his own body back, Dean sets a faster pace than usual, and they cover a good amount of ground before the light begins to fade. 

“We must be quite near the coast by now,” Castiel says, breaking the silence between them. “We’ll have to go back west at some point.”

Dean squints at the trees around them, which do seem to be thinning out slightly. “Tomorrow,” he replies. “We might as well stop here.”

Castiel nods, eyes narrowing as he scans the surrounding area. “There.” He raises his arm and points to a cluster of rocks that jut out from the forest floor. “There might be a cave we can shelter in.”

“As long as it isn’t already occupied,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Laughing, Castiel urges him forward. “I’ll go first.”

It is a cave, set into a small rise in a clear patch of the forest. Castiel approaches slowly, one hand on his sword as he deliberately kicks a few loose stones near the entrance. If there’s anything lurking inside, the noise should draw it out.

Dean waits just behind Castiel, weapon at the ready, but nothing comes rushing out with fangs or claws bared. After an excruciating pause, Castiel lowers his head and ducks into the cave. 

He emerges a few minutes later, brushing dirt off his tunic with a satisfied nod. “Good solid walls, no strange smells, everything is clean and dry. I don’t believe we’re intruding on anyone’s privacy.”

Dean lowers his hand from his sword. “Well, that’s what we keep watch for anyway, right?”

Castiel favours him with a small smile. “Right.”

Dean can’t deny that the thought of even some meager shelter is appealing. Ducking down, he does his own inspection of the cave. It’s bigger than anticipated, but he doesn’t see any hidden exits where something could sneak up on them, at least.

They’re quiet as they set up their camp, but they move around each other with practiced ease. It’s only been a handful of days, somehow, but Dean feels like he and Castiel have been wandering these woods for a lifetime. 

“Ah.”

Dean looks up at the sound of Castiel’s voice. “What is it?”

There’s definite embarrassment in Castiel’s voice. “In all the excitement of the day, I may have forgotten we’re out of provisions.”

As if on cue, Dean’s stomach rumbles. “Not like I was thinking about it either,” he says. They have the goldengrace berries he picked, but they’re barely enough to sustain a squirrel, let alone two grown men, and they might need them later.

Sighing, he gets to his feet. “Let’s see what we can scrounge up, then.”

Castiel waves him back down. “I’ll go. You stay here.”

Dean frowns. “Is that smart? You shouldn’t be wandering around out there alone.”

“I won’t go far, I promise.” Surprisingly, Castiel doesn’t sound exasperated. “Besides, I need to piss.”

It’s the shocking vulgarity that convinces Dean. Snorting a laugh, he sits back down. “Alright then. Yell if you need me.”

“To help me piss? I think I can manage.” 

Before Dean can gather himself enough to reply, Castiel is gone.

And now, despite the context being incredibly unsexy, Dean is thinking about Castiel’s cock. Muttering angrily to himself, he takes up position at the mouth of the cave and desperately tries to turn his thoughts to something else. Anything else. 

He’s lost in contemplation of what Castiel will bring back for them to eat when he hears a strange sound from outside the cave. “Castiel?” he calls. “Is that you?”

There’s no response. “Damn it,” he says under his breath. He knew this cave had to be occupied, and now he’ll have to try to scare off some poor bear who just wants to know why there are humans in its house.

Drawing his sword, Dean steps out of the cave. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust, but he doesn’t immediately see anything. Frowning, he takes a few more steps forward, scanning the trees. He doesn’t see Castiel either, and that’s when the icy shivers of fear start to spread to his heart. If something happened to him--

A whisper of wind from above draws Dean’s attention upwards just in time to see the sky blotted out. “What the--” he breathes, eyes going wide as he struggles to make sense of what he’s seeing.

A column of flame shoots towards him as Dean’s scream is lost in the sound of the dragon’s roar.


	10. Chapter 10

As he dodges the burst of fire, throwing himself behind one of the rocks at the cave’s entrance, Dean’s only hysterical thought is _I thought they would be bigger_.

The dragon is big, no doubt about it. But somehow not as enormous as Dean imagined, lithe enough that it can land in the clearing with a thud that rattles the ground. It roars again, and Dean dares to sneak a glance around the boulder. It paws at the ground with one heavy, sharp-clawed foot, thin tendrils of smoke still spewing from its nostrils.

It seems clumsier on land, its wings awkwardly half-tucked in along its sides like it can’t quite figure out whether to extend them or draw them in completely. Dean risks another glance, estimating how far the tree line is and how fast that jet of fire travelled. If he can make it to the trees, it will be forced to take to the air again, and while it could burn the entire forest down just to get to him, at least he’ll have a shot. 

Rising into a crouch as the dragon roars again, he takes a deep breath. He’s poised to run when he glimpses movement out of the corner of his eye, something too small to be the dragon.

The moonlight glints off Castiel’s sword as he charges into the clearing. His hair is wild and his eyes are fierce, and something tightens painfully in Dean’s chest before he realizes what’s about to happen.

Castiel, stupidly reckless, is going to get himself killed attacking a dragon.

Without even realizing he’s moving, Dean springs to his feet and draws his own sword. Yelling, he emerges from behind the boulder, the dragon’s head swivelling on its slender neck as it tries to track both him and Castiel. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dean yells as he circles around the dragon. No sense trying to hide their presence now. “Charging at a dragon with no back-up!”

Castiel ducks out of the way as the dragon hisses and rakes the air where he just stood with one fierce paw. “I thought my back-up was already burnt to a crisp!”

“Wow.” Dean shakes his head as he skips over the dragon’s lashing tail, tipped with sharp spikes. “That’s some real faith you’ve got in me.”

Castiel spares him a truly disdainful look before sneaking under the dragon’s defenses and striking a blow against its side. His sword makes a sharp ringing sound that echoes in the open air, and the look of pure shock on his face would be hilarious under less dire circumstances.

“Okay.” Dean backs off, putting more distance between the dragon and himself. “Swords are useless. Now what?”

The dragon bellows, rearing up onto its hind legs. Dean barely has time to yell “Duck!” before throwing himself to the ground as the flames cut through the air. He can feel the heat pass over him, but his body doesn’t light up with pain. 

Raising his head slightly, he squints across the clearing and sees Castiel in a similar position. The dragon is still shrieking above them, higher-pitched and drawn out, like it’s had enough of this teasing and is ready to just end it already.

As quickly as he can, Dean wiggles across the grass until he reaches Castiel’s side. He’ll worry about the loss of his dignity if they manage not to lose their lives. “Look,” he says, breathing heavily, “we’ve got no chance out here in the open. If we can get into the trees, maybe it will give up.”

Castiel frowns, eyes flicking between the cave, the trees, and the dragon. “If it’s defending its territory--”

“It might let us go,” Dean finishes.

It’s still a big fucking risk, and they both know it. But their swords can’t seem to pierce the dragon’s thick hide and glittering scales, and honestly, Dean doesn’t want to kill it. He just wants it not to kill them.

“If we both run, it’ll burn us up straight away,” Castiel says.

“Right.” Dean swallows roughly, imagining the flames eating through his clothes to the flesh below. “Okay.” He pushes himself to a crouch and allows himself one last, lingering look at Castiel. “As soon as it’s distracted, make a break for it.”

“What are you--”

Dean leaps forward, eyes fixed on the dragon’s head. It opens its mouth to shriek again, revealing rows of sharp, gleaming teeth, and he almost loses his nerve. He can hear Castiel shouting behind him, but he doesn’t slow.

The dragon clumsily turns to follow him, turning its back to Castiel. It hisses, and Dean braces himself. He just hopes Castiel hasn’t done something stupid and wasted this opportunity to get away. One of them still needs to find Jack and Claire, after all, and if he sticks around here and gets them both killed, Dean is going to be pissed.

“Come and get me!” he yells, waving his arms above his head. Anything to keep its attention fixed on him.

The dragon hisses again, eyes tracking the motion of Dean’s arms. He cranes his neck to try to see behind it, to see if Castiel is out of sight, and that’s when the dragon unfurls its wings.

One heavy wing strikes Dean squarely in the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending him soaring across the clearing. He hits a nearby tree with a sickening crack and falls to the ground, every bone in his body screaming in agony.

No. That’s not his body screaming. It’s someone else, a voice he almost recognizes, but the haze of pain is clouding his brain. He tries to pull himself to his feet but collapses immediately, eyes blurring and ears ringing.

Gasping for breath, he forces his eyes to focus on the scene before him. He recognizes Castiel by the shine of his blade as he swings it toward the dragon. Dean should have known he would never run from a fight. The dragon roars, and Dean closes his eyes, knowing the end is near. He can’t bring himself to watch.

The night goes quiet so suddenly Dean almost thinks he’s passed on. Cautiously, he cracks open his eyes, then blinks several times in quick succession, afraid his dazed mind is playing tricks on him.

There’s someone else in the clearing now. A slight, familiar figure, one hand resting on the dragon’s neck and one raised towards Castiel to keep him back.

“Jack?” Dean tries to say, but it comes out as barely a croak.

“--she won’t hurt you, I promise!” Jack’s voice is frantic. “Calm down, Cimorene. There’s a good girl. Castiel is our friend.”

“Won’t hurt me?” There’s an unfamiliar note to Castiel’s voice, something high and frantic. “Well that’s a relief, Jack, but it’s too late.”

Dean frowns. Is Castiel talking about him? He tries to call out, but a fresh stab of pain steals his breath.

The dragon makes a strange trilling noise. Jack tilts his head back to look at her, then smiles at Castiel. “She says your friend is fine. She can hear his heart beating.”

Castiel goes perfectly still. Dean manages to pull himself to a seated position, every inch of his body protesting, and brace himself against the trunk of the tree he smacked into. The movement must draw Castiel’s attention, because he lets out a wordless cry, and in an instant he’s at Dean’s side.

He skids to a halt only inches away and drops to his knees. “Dean,” he breathes, eyes wide and wondrous. 

Dean manages a shaky smile. “Hey. Thought I told you to run.”

Castiel closes his eyes tightly, then opens them again to glare at Dean. “You idiot. You noble, self-sacrificing--”

Then his lips are pressed against Dean’s, and whatever else he was going to say is lost in the intensity of his kiss.

Dean lets out a surprised sound. More than ever, he’s convinced this is all a product of his imagination, the result of hitting his head against the tree. But Castiel’s lips are warm and soft, slightly chapped as they move over Dean’s, and his heart is pounding loudly enough for Dean to hear it thumping in the scant space between their bodies.

Instinctively, he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, but that slight movement sends a shooting pain through his chest. He gasps, and Castiel immediately pulls away, eyes widening. “I’m sorry,” he says, stumbling over the words. “I shouldn’t have-- you didn’t--”

“Yes I did,” Dean protests. “ _You_ never-- all these years and you--” He winces, pressing a hand to his chest, and Castiel’s eyes drop from his.

“I thought you were--” he says, drawing in a shaky breath.

Dean exhales slowly and tips his head back against the tree trunk. “So did I for a minute there.”

“Can you stand?” Strong, surprisingly gentle hands move over his shoulders to grasp him beneath the arms. Dean gasps against the pain, but Castiel keeps him steady as he climbs awkwardly to his feet.

“Dean!” Jack’s voice is as bright as his smile. “Hello!”

Fighting back a hysterical laugh, Dean manages a small smile. “Hey, Your Highness. Good to see you.” His smile fades as he glances around the clearing and sees only Castiel, Jack, and the dragon, who is now curled up like a giant, scaly cat. “But where’s--”

Jack’s smile doesn’t fade. “Claire’s fine! She’s not far. Well, sort of. I can take you to her.”

Dean’s knees buckle in relief, but Castiel manages to keep him upright. “Thanks,” he mutters under his breath. “I’d like that, Jack, but I don’t think I’m in good enough shape to go much further right now.”

His voice cracks on the last words, and shame burns hot in his throat. But Castiel’s face is soft when he looks at Dean, eyes compassionate, and he gives him a small nod like he knows how much it cost Dean to admit to any weakness.

“Oh.” Jack makes an apologetic face. “Cimorene didn’t mean to hurt you. You were flapping your arms around, and she thought you wanted her to spread her wings.” His face turns thoughtful, then brightens again. “She can carry us to where Claire is.”

Dean is still too stuck on the fact that he somehow prompted the dragon to hurl him against a tree to respond, so Castiel does it for him. “All of us?” he asks, the doubt clear in his voice. 

“Oh yes.” Jack nods enthusiastically. “She’s still young, but she’s very strong.”

Castiel raises one eyebrow at Dean. “Well?”

Dean stops himself before he shrugs, knowing how much that one movement will cost him. He’s already learned that dragons are real, been well and thoroughly kissed by someone he was convinced hated him, found one of two of their royal runaways, and been assured that the other was safe and well. Might as well add dragon-riding to the list of impossible events of the day. “Sure. Why not.”

Jack beams at him before rushing back to the dragon’s side. She sits up at attention and tilts her head to the side as Jack explains what they want. “He talks to dragons,” Dean says.

Castiel nods. “Apparently.”

“Come on!” Jack waves them forward as he climbs smoothly onto Cimorene’s back. “Dean, you sit behind me, and Castiel, you sit behind Dean so he doesn’t fall off.”

“Oh, thanks,” Dean grumbles as Castiel helps him walk across the clearing, but he can’t deny he’ll feel safer with Castiel’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist. “Wait. Our stuff. It’s still in the cave.”

Castiel helps Dean swing his leg over the dragon’s back, grimacing as Dean sucks in a pained breath. “I’ll get it.”

The dragon’s scales are hard to the touch, but with a soft metallic sheen that makes Dean want to rub his hands all over them. “Hey, uh, Jack?”

Jack twists to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s not exactly true, but Dean doesn’t think he’s about to pass out, so he’ll count that as a win. “Can you tell, uh, Cimorene that I’m sorry if we scared her? Or invaded her home.”

“Tell her yourself,” Jack suggests, as Cimorene swings her head back to look at them.

Dean attempts a smile. “Hey, Cimorene. We really didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

She lets out a delicate snort, and before Dean can draw back, her fiery hot tongue sweeps over his face in what is clearly a gesture of both affection and forgiveness. 

Castiel lets out a laugh as he returns bearing both their satchels. Adjusting them over his shoulders, he climbs onto Cimorene’s back like he’s been riding dragons since the day he was born. Once, that easy competence might have turned Dean green with envy. Now, he just watches in admiration and relaxes into Castiel’s hold as he wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

“Everyone settled?” Jack asks. At Dean and Castiel’s affirmative noises, he reaches down to pat the side of the dragon’s neck. “Let’s go, girl!”

Cimorene launches into the air so smoothly Dean barely has time to be afraid. Her wings beat steadily through the air, and like Jack promised, she seems to have no trouble bearing their weight.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Jack shouts, twisting to look back at them.

“That’s one word for it,” Dean mutters, daring an uneasy glance down and immediately raising his eyes again. He thrills at the sound of Castiel’s choked laugh. 

“Indeed, Your Highness,” Castiel replies. “We thought we were on a mission to rescue you, but it turns out, you’re the one who did the rescuing.”

“And Cimorene,” Jack insists.

“Of course,” Castiel agrees gravely.

As long as he doesn’t look down, flying isn’t so bad. Castiel’s chest is broad and solid against his back, and Cimorene flies smoothly enough that Dean barely notices them moving. Tipping his head back, he rests it against Castiel’s shoulder and sighs.

“It’s been one hell of a day,” he murmurs.

“It really has,” Castiel agrees. Dean feels the lightest brush of his lips over his forehead, a soft counterpoint to the pain that still radiates through the rest of his body. “Rest now, but don’t fall asleep. It’s not a good idea with a head injury.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean mutters, and feels Castiel’s body shake with his laughter.

Closing his eyes, Dean takes stock of their current situation: he’s alive. Castiel is alive. Jack is safe, and he swears Claire is too. They’re on their way to her right now. All things considered, it’s a far better outcome than what he expected.

Plus--

Twisting his head, he opens his eyes to look up at Castiel.”You called me Dean.”

Castiel blinks innocently, but Dean isn’t fooled for a second. “You never call me anything but Winchester, but you called me Dean.”

“I--” Castiel opens his mouth, then sighs. “I did. But”-- he jerks his head towards Jack-- “I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

He has a point. “Fine,” Dean grumbles, wriggling slightly in his hold. “But we are going to talk about it.”

“Fine,” Castiel echoes, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Now rest.”

Satisfied, Dean relaxes again. Castiel rests his chin against his hair and Dean smiles to himself, eyes slipping closed as the night air rustles past his face, the beat of Cimorene’s wings keeping time with the beat of his heart.

Smelling salt on the air, Dean opens his eyes. He raises his head from its comfortable position on Castiel’s shoulder and sniffs the air. “Where are we?” he asks, voice cracking slightly.

“We’re heading back along the coast,” Jack replies without turning his head. “Not much longer now.”

Dean peers over Cimorene’s flank, but it’s still too dark for him to see anything. He’s only been to the coast once before, when he was very young, and never this far west. They must be headed for the peninsula where the forest extends towards the sea, and he shivers slightly at the thought of all the mysterious stories about this area. 

“How are you feeling?” Castiel’s voice is a low rumble in his ear, and Dean shivers again, but for a very different reason. 

“Like I got slammed into a tree,” Dean replies, wincing as he takes stock of all the places on his body that still hurt. It would probably be more efficient to catalogue the ones that don’t: his fingers and toes are fine, his knees aren’t bad, and his face is okay. Little victories.

Castiel clicks his tongue, shifting his arms around Dean’s middle. “Jack,” he calls, “where exactly are we going? Aside from Claire, is there anyone else there?”

Dean knows what he’s really asking: if they need to be ready for a fight. Considering the state he’s in, he really hopes they don’t.

This time, Jack does twist to face them. “Yes,” he says slowly. He blows out a deep breath, looking like a chastened schoolboy. Dean can’t blame him-- Castiel has that effect on people. “We’ll explain everything when we get there, I promise.”

“It’s fine,” Dean says quietly. “We have a dragon now. I’m pretty sure we can handle anything else we get thrown at us.”

Castiel laughs, his breath warm against Dean’s face. “True.”

As if on cue, Cimorene lets out a piercing screech. Dean flinches, but after the initial panic passes, he realizes it’s a far different sound than any he’s heard from her before. She does it again, and this time, Dean hears the joy in it. 

“I think we must be getting--”

His words are lost in a strangled yelp as Cimorene suddenly dives, wings folding closer to her body as she hurtles towards the ground. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep himself still as Jack whoops in delight. Clearly, he has no doubt in Cimorene’s ability to land safely.

Dean doesn’t open his eyes again until he feels Cimorene hit the ground with a thud. She whistles, shifting slightly, and Castiel unwraps his arms from around Dean’s waist. “Come on,” he says.

Climbing carefully off her back, Dean manages to nod at Cimorene. “Thanks,” he says. She blinks at him, and Dean manages to stumble back out of licking range, though he does pat her flank gratefully as he looks around.

Cimorene has touched down on a patch of swaying grass, soft under his boots. The smell of salt is stronger now, and he can hear the gentle lapping of waves on the sand that stretches ahead of them. It’s calm, quiet, and peaceful, but there’s something lonely about it that makes a lump rise in Dean’s throat. 

“This way,” Jack says, tearing Dean’s gaze away from the dark sea and off to their left.

A pale building glows under the light of the moon and stars. It’s all soft edges and circular protrusions from a central dome, far bigger than the house Dean grew up in but nothing compared to the grand scale of the palace. He takes a step towards it, Castiel hovering at his side, then freezes as two figures emerge from the darkness, one of them carrying a torch.

Holding up a hand to keep Castiel back, Dean hobbles across the grass. Claire’s hair gleams in the light of the other girl’s torch, which flickers over her face as she watches Dean approach. When he’s just a few feet away, she sets her jaw in a way he’s all too familiar with and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’m not going back,” she says, words ringing loudly in the otherwise-silent air.

Dean halts. She holds her head proudly high, her hair in its usual braids, but she’s dressed in loose trousers and a soft-looking tunic, with no jewels or adornments. She looks older than he remembers, something different in her eyes that gives him pause as he examines her for signs of injury or mistreatment.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “We’ll get back to that. But first”-- he slowly lowers himself to one knee, despite the immediate protests his body makes, and bows his head-- “how may I serve you, Your Highness?”

Claire makes a choked sound and throws herself towards him, pulling him to his feet and wrapping her arms around him in the same movement. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice muffled against his chest. “I’m sorry I left without telling you, but I know you would have stopped me, and I’m sorry I was so mean to you but you were asking questions and I didn’t think I could lie to you and--”

Dean rests his chin against her hair and squeezes her tight, ignoring the way it makes his body light up in pain. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” Everything it took to bring him here fades away with the knowledge that he’s right where he belongs, back at Claire’s side. 

Drawing back, she smiles shakily at him. “I know you have questions.”

“Just a few.” Dean lets his arms drop from around her shoulders and takes a closer look around them. In his relief at seeing Claire again, he didn’t spare the other girl a second glance. Now, he returns her steady gaze, taking in the clouds of dark hair and slight build, the wary eyes that gleam in the light of--

Dean lets out a sharp curse. She isn’t holding a torch. Fire springs from her palms, which she holds out in front of herself. An enchantress. In all likelihood, the same one whose spell turned Dean into a squirrel. 

Someday, he might be able to move past that, but right now, the memory of the hawk swooping down on him is too fresh. 

“We both do,” Castiel says quietly, coming up beside Dean and giving him a sidelong look. “But I believe introductions are in order.”

Claire nods, then beckons the other girl forward. “This is Kaia. She’s, uh--” 

Dean can see the telltale flush in Claire’s cheeks, the softening of her eyes as she glances at Kaia, and understands everything in a flash.

“The reason you ran away from home?” Dean supplies. He keeps his voice light, teasing, and is relieved when Claire flashes a quick smile at him.

“Yeah,” she says softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Kaia, this is Dean Winchester. My Sworn Protector. And Castiel Novak, who’s Jack’s.”

Castiel bows formally. “A pleasure.”

Dean winces at the thought of bending again and offers an awkward wave instead. “I would bow, but I had an unfortunate encounter with a tree trunk, and--”

“You’re hurt?” Kaia’s voice is soft, some of the wariness easing from her eyes. “Come inside. I’ll brew you something for the pain.”

Waving away Castiel’s helping hand, Dean follows Claire and Kaia into the house, the fire in Kaia’s hands lighting their way. They pass through a short entrance hall before the walls curve outward, and Dean’s jaw drops as he comes to a sudden stop.

The main room is a large, circular space, torches flickering merrily in sconces along the curving walls. They reflect off something in the stone, casting the entire room in a soft glow. In the far corner, there’s a kitchen fire crackling, with a rough wooden table covered in herbs and flowers pushed against the wall. Closer, there are soft cushions and rugs scattered over the floor, a smaller table with four mismatched chairs surrounding it, and shelves cut right into the stone of the walls lined with ancient-looking books.

It’s beautiful, welcoming, and much too big for one slight young enchantress alone.

Kaia waves him to a seat at the table. Dean sinks gratefully onto one of the carved wooden chairs as Claire wordlessly passes him a pillow to put behind his back. “Not that old,” he grunts, but she just rolls her eyes and motions him forward so she can adjust it properly. 

Claire pats his shoulder and joins Kaia as she busies herself by the fire while the others scatter themselves on the floor. Jack lounges on his back, clearly at ease in this space, and says, “We’ll show you the rest of the house later. There’s a special room where Cimorene can put her head in to talk to us!”

“That sounds wonderful.” Dean had forgotten how different Castiel sounds when he’s talking to Jack, how soft and amused his voice can go without losing any of its authority. “But for now, let’s begin with how you all ended up here.”

Jack’s smile wavers, but only for a second. “Well, it all started with Claire and Kaia--”

“So I should probably tell this part,” Claire interrupts. Kaia gives her a soft smile as she crosses the room and offers Dean a steaming mug of something that smells both sweet and sharp. The aroma brings back a flood of memories of standing in his family’s kitchen as his mother gave him something to cure his sniffles, and he accepts it with only a trace of hesitation.

The girls join Jack on the floor, sitting close enough to touch but with their hands folded neatly in their laps. Dean bites back a smile, well aware they’re restraining themselves out of politeness, and lets the mug warm his hands as he says, “So. Tell us.”

Claire lets out a deep breath and squares her shoulders, but Kaia cuts her off. “I’m a dreamwalker,” she says quietly. “In addition to my other magical capabilities.”

She pauses as though that’s supposed to mean something to Dean, and for all his long-buried knowledge of magic, he doesn’t recognize the term. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t know--”

“She can travel in other people’s dreams,” Jack supplies. 

Dean draws in a sharp breath and meets Castiel’s startled glance. 

“I don’t use that gift often,” Kaia continues, clearly aware of the nervousness her admission provoked. “Or at least I didn’t, until--”

“Until she came stumbling into my dream one night,” Claire says with a fond smile. “I was dreaming of the sea, and suddenly, there was a figure on the beach, dressed all in black. I didn’t recognize her, but--”

“Certain aspects of dreams, if they’re filled with enough emotion, can call me to them.” Kaia meets Dean’s eyes steadily. “I didn’t intend to trespass, and I tried to leave as gracefully as I could, but--”

“Let me guess.” Dean knows Claire, her curiosity and her stubbornness and the hint of entitlement that comes with being the only heir to one of the most powerful thrones in the land. “She made you explain.”

“Exactly.” Kaia casts a soft look at Claire, who shrugs. “After that, I had a standing invitation to visit her dreams. We spoke almost every night, and…” She trails off, but there’s no need for further explanation. Dean can see it in the way they look at each other, the way their bodies lean towards each other like moths to a flame. 

Letting out a deep breath, Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. But Claire, why did you have to leave?” Turning his head, he glances at Jack. “And why did you bring Jack with you?”

Claire wraps her hands around her knees and leans forward. “You know how it was. Every courtier watching our every move, Mother and the regents putting all their hopes for an alliance on us. I couldn’t breathe there, Dean.”

“You couldn’t just talk to the queen?”

Claire lets out an inelegant snort. “I tried. She kept saying I didn’t have to decide yet, it was my choice to make, but going ahead with her plans anyway.” She sighs. “So that’s when Kaia and I started making plans of our own.”

“All during your dreams?” Castiel asks. He’s been silently following the conversation, but there’s a trace of confusion on his face now.

“Not exactly.” Kaia shakes her head. “There’s a spell that allows me to pass messages on the wind, but my range is limited. If Claire was in the forest, I could reach her, but not in the palace.”

Dean narrows his eyes at Claire. “All those rides, all those races…”

“Not all of them!” Claire protests. “And most of the time, if I knew Kaia wanted to speak with me, it was easier to go with Charlie. She wouldn’t ask questions if I drifted off the way you would.”

Scowling, Dean crosses his arm over his chest. “So you made her a conspirator without her knowing?”

“Winchester--” Castiel says, but Claire shakes her head. 

“No, he’s right. We did take advantage of Charlie’s trust, of your willingness to bend to my wishes.” Claire meets his eyes, and Dean is jolted by the maturity he sees reflected there. “I’m sorry.”

A lump rising in his throat, Dean takes a cautious sip of his brew. He tastes peppermint and lavender, along with other things he can’t easily identify, but a pleasing warmth spreads through his body immediately, so he continues to drink. 

“At what point did you become involved?” Castiel asks Jack, tilting his head to the side. “I understand, somewhat, why Claire did what she did, but you--”

“I just wanted to help.” Jack’s voice is subdued, and he’s doing a pretty good impression of a kicked puppy. Dean’s heart clenches painfully at the expression on Jack’s face as he looks at Castiel, mingled regret and desperate yearning for approval. “We knew there could be trouble if Claire left on her own. If someone thought we had tried to get out the alliance by getting rid of her. Also”-- he grimaces-- “if I’d stayed behind, I probably would have given everything away eventually.”

Dean coughs to cover a sudden laugh. Jack has a point-- he’s way too earnest to be a convincing liar. 

Castiel shakes his head. “I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just--” He breaks off, sighing heavily. “But that hardly matters now. What’s done is done. I am curious, though, how you managed to sneak out of a heavily-guarded palace completely unseen.”

A small, sly smile appears on Kaia’s lips. “It really wasn’t that difficult. I gave Claire the instructions for a charm that would make her invisible. Not all magic needs innate capacity to work, though it does affect things like the duration of the enchantment.”

The pieces click into place with startling speed. The memory of petals scattered across Claire’s chamber floor vivid in his mind, Dean reaches into the pocket of his vest and withdraws the purple flower, crushed but still vibrant. “Flower crowns,” he says flatly. “You made flower crowns that turned you invisible?” There’s a slight sting of betrayal at the fact that he was roped into helping her pick the necessary ingredients, but he pushes it aside. Like Castiel said, what’s done is done. 

Claire grins at him. “Actually, they ended up being more like bracelets. Two for me, two for Jack. They didn’t last much past the time we made it to the woods, but we didn’t need them to.”

Dean opens his mouth, but all that emerges is a yawn. He still has a thousand questions running through his mind, half of them regarding the dragon, but he’s exhausted. He squints down at his empty mug, then raises an eyebrow at Kaia.

“It will help you sleep,” she says calmly. “Nothing more.”

Castiel climbs gracefully to his feet and gives Jack a stern look. “This conversation isn’t over.” But he softens his words by extending a hand to pull Jack to his feet, clasping him briefly by the elbow before letting him go.

“Definitely not,” Dean agrees, narrowing his eyes at Claire. “But for now--” Another yawn cuts him off. 

“We could all use the sleep,” Claire says. “Come on, there are plenty of rooms.”

Dean glances up and meets Castiel’s eyes for a brief second before he looks away. They haven’t had a chance to talk about that kiss, not with everything else going on, but that doesn’t mean Dean’s forgotten about it. He can’t exactly bring it up in front of this audience, though, so he stays silent as Claire leads him down a corridor towards one of the chambers that radiate out from the main room.

“There should be fresh shirts in there,” she says, nodding towards a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed. 

The room isn’t large, but it’s clean and the bed looks invitingly soft. Dean frowns. “Whose room is this?”

A shadow crosses Claire’s face, and she shakes her head jerkily. “Kaia wasn’t always alone here,” she says quietly. “We can talk about it tomorrow, if--”

Dean holds up a hand to stop her. “No. Not unless she wants to.”

Smiling shakily, Claire crosses the room to give him a careful hug. “I really missed you, Dean.”

Pressing his cheek against her hair, Dean sighs. “I missed you too, kid.” He hesitates, not sure if he’s overstepping, then says, “And I bet your mom misses you too.”

Guilt flashes across Claire’s face. “Kaia says she’s been dreaming about me. She can feel it, because she’s so connected to me.”

Dean frowns. “Look. We can talk about what comes next tomorrow, but do you think Kaia can use that connection to talk to the queen? To let her know you’re alright, if nothing else?”

He can see the struggle behind Claire’s eyes. For all her recklessness, she loves her mother, and this separation must be hurting her too. “I hate when you’re right,” she says, and Dean knows her well enough to know that means she and Kaia will give it a try.

“Now get some rest.” Pulling back, Claire gives him a little wave. “I promise, I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Dean manages a tiny bow and says, “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

After she’s gone, Dean takes his time stripping off his stained clothes, piling them neatly on the floor. He finds a long linen shirt in the chest, as promised, wincing as he raises his arms to pull it over his head. Footsteps sound in the corridor outside and he tenses, heart pounding in his chest, but they continue past his door and he deflates. 

He’d hoped, foolishly, Castiel might come to him. That he might hover in Dean’s doorway, unusually hesitant, that Dean might pull him in close and kiss him gently. That they might share this bed-- not that Dean’s in any shape to do anything other than sleep right now. 

He waits another few minutes before blowing out the candle on the nightstand and climbing into bed. The mattress and sheets feel luxuriously soft after almost a week of sleeping on the hard forest floor, and Kaia’s potion has taken away most of his pain, but he still tosses and turns, tensing at every tiny noise. 

Staring up into the dark, he lets out a small laugh. “Don’t know why you expected any different,” he mutters to himself. “It was just a heat of the moment thing. He thought I was dead. Doesn’t mean anything. Just because I wanted it to--” He twists and punches the pillow, exhaling shakily. “This is your own fault.”

After all, it isn’t the first time he’s entirely misread the situation where Castiel is concerned.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean wakes slowly, blinking in the soft light that spills through the opening in the ceiling of his chamber. Cautiously, he stretches his limbs and is both impressed and relieved at how easily they bend, only a slight ache lingering in his muscles. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he scrubs a hand over his face and rises, crinkling his nose at the thought of putting his travel-stained clothing back on. He peeks into the wooden chest and sure enough, there are several shirts and pairs of trousers that fit reasonably well. Gathering them up in his arms, he exits the room.

The corridor is quiet, and Dean wonders if everyone else is still asleep. Two doors down from his chamber he finds a bathing room, buckets of warm water at the ready, and takes a few minutes to make himself presentable.

The main chamber is empty as well, though there are a few plates and bowls scattered around the room. Wondering just how long he slept, Dean heads through the entrance corridor and emerges blinking into the morning sunlight.

He sucks in his breath at the sight of the sea before him, brilliantly turquoise and clear. The sand is a soft gold colour that blends into the high grass where he stands, and only a few faint clouds streak across the bright blue sky. He’s never seen anything quite like it, and he stays rooted in place as he absorbs the beauty of it all.

A shout of laughter draws his attention off to his left, where Jack, Claire, and Kaia are circling around Cimorene. Her scales shine in the light, shimmering from black to deepest violet through midnight blue to emerald green and finally into purest gold. She’s beautiful, majestic, and-- 

Dean raises a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. Cimorene appears to be in the middle of a bath. Jack holds a long-handled brush, while Claire brandishes a large sponge and Kaia pours jets of water from her bare hands. Cimorene wriggles in delight, tail whipping back and forth in her enjoyment. Judging by the way the humans skip nimbly out of the way, they’re well-used to this behaviour.

On a small rise of sand not far away, Castiel sits watching them. Dean takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, keeping his pace casual and easy as he approaches.

“Good morning,” he says, dropping onto the sand beside him. “It is still morning, right?”

One side of Castiel’s mouth curls up. “Barely.” He twists his head to look at Dean, assessing. “How are you feeling?”

Dean rolls his shoulders and tilts his head from side to side. “Honestly, pretty great. Whatever was in that brew Kaia made for me was effective.”

“Good.” Castiel’s gaze lingers on him a moment longer, then turns back to Cimorene and her bath attendants. “They’re happy here.”

Swallowing roughly, Dean nods. “Yeah. I know. But--”

He can’t drag Claire back to the palace. Even if he wanted to, he doubts Kaia would let that happen. But they need to discuss it, need to make a real plan for the future, one that takes other people like Queen Amelia and Jack’s regents into consideration.

Just thinking about it makes his chest ache. He can anticipate the look of betrayal on Claire’s face. They’ll have to be delicate about it, and Dean’s self-aware enough to know delicacy isn’t exactly his strong suit.

“I hate this,” he announces. 

“I know.” Castiel gives him another lopsided smile. “I do too.”

They could march across the sand, pull Jack and Claire aside, and sit them down for a lesson on duty and respect and acting in the interest of people other than themselves. But they don’t. They just sit in silence, the sun shining down on them, until Castiel says, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Dean asks, but he already knows. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest, the ache of an anticipated blow, and he wonders if Kaia has a potion to fix a broken heart as easily as she soothed his aching body.

Castiel stares straight ahead, the sea breeze lifting strands of dark hair away from his face. “For that kiss. I shouldn’t have--”

“Why did you?” Dean bursts out. He meant to play it cool, to dismiss Castiel’s apology and keep his bruised heart to himself, but he can’t stop replaying it over and over his mind. A spur of the moment impulse, an affirmation of life in the face of near-death, they all make a certain degree of sense, but nothing explains the relief in Castiel’s eyes as he called Dean by name. 

Castiel’s eyes flick up to meet his, wide with surprise. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me.” Dean pulls up a clump of nearby grass, then immediately feels guilty for destroying a piece of this beautiful landscape. “You don’t even like me.” He hears the whine in his voice and winces. “I’m just a spoiled brat who got his position thanks to his father and thinks he can use the way he looks in his uniform to get whatever he wants.” He can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his tone. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Castiel flinches as though he’s been slapped. “I--”

“What, you didn’t mean it?” Dean scoffs. “Because you sounded pretty damn certain at the time.”

He closes his eyes as the memories come flooding back. It was the first summer they met, seven years ago now, and Dean was immediately drawn to Castiel, to his dark hair and his solidly muscled body and those damn blue eyes. And he’d thought Castiel felt the same way about him. So, young and brash and confident, he’d made his move one night after they’d escorted Jack and Claire back from a walk in the gardens. Nothing forceful-- he’d simply let his eyes go soft, let his shoulder brush against Castiel’s as they walked through the silent corridors of the palace, and when they’d reached Dean’s chambers and Claire was safely inside her own, Dean had invited him in.

And Castiel had proceeded to go stiff as a board, eyes hard as flint as he launched into a tirade about Dean’s arrogance, his entitlement, his disrespect for his position and the disgrace it brought on the name of Royal Protector. Dean had listened, shame and rage building inside him with every word, and when Castiel was finally finished, all he’d said was, “You could have just said no.”

They’ve never spoken of it since.

“Dean.”

There’s a world of pleading in Castiel’s voice, a universe of anguish. Letting out a slow breath, Dean opens his eyes and sees the stricken look on Castiel’s face. “That was’’-- he swallows roughly-- “a very long time ago.”

“And I haven’t changed that much since then, so…”

“But I have.”

Dean glances at him, confused. He wouldn’t say so, except--

Castiel takes a deep breath. “Do you remember what I told you about my first visit to Anatiac? How excited I was, and how quickly I became disillusioned?”

“Yeah, because people were jerks to you about how much you look like King James, and--” Dean stops himself, frowning. Something is beginning to take shape in his mind, something as uncomfortable as it is understandable.

“I put up so many walls,” Castiel says softly. “I was furious with the way people treated me, with the way they stared and whispered, and the more I guarded myself, the easier it became to just be that person, the humourless prick from Dysland.” He blows out a deep breath. “And you-- Dean, you were everything I couldn’t be, everything I wanted. Bright and carefree and adored by everyone you met. I wanted you so badly I thought it might kill me, but when you invited me into your room I froze. All the hurt and shame that had been building inside of me came spilling out, directed at you even though none of it was your fault.” He looks away, a flush rising in his cheeks. 

Dean stares at him, speechless. Every interaction they’ve had over the past seven years runs through his head, now adjusted in light of this new information. “Okay,” he says eventually. “I get it. Really. That must have been a hard time for you, but--” He shakes his head slowly. “You never mentioned it. You never gave me any hint that you--”

“I know,” Castiel interrupts, shaking his head. “I planned to. After we went back to Dysland and I had the time and distance to reflect, I realized how unfair I had been to you. And then we arrived in Anatiac the next summer and one of the first things I heard you say was how you were courting Lady Lisa.”

Dean winces. “It wasn’t anything serious.”

A small smile hovers on Castiel’s lips. “I know. But I was devastated, and I convinced myself you were exactly as shallow as I accused you of being. To protect myself. Every time we had a moment when we weren’t at each other’s throats, I told myself it was just your natural charm. You never made any more overtures, so I thought you were done with me, that any interest you’d had was gone. And I didn’t blame you for it.”

“I was trying to respect your decision,” Dean says slowly. “You said no, and yeah, you were an absolute dick about it, which did sort of kill my interest, but not entirely.”

Castiel lets out a small, startled laugh. “Really?”

“Really.” Dean huffs a laugh of his own. “Fighting with you always sort of felt like foreplay.” He leans back and lowers his body until he’s stretched out on the ground, staring up at the sky. “I still don’t really understand when things changed, though. Was it just this week? When you realized I’m just as much of a wreck as you are?”

“Somewhat.” Castiel mimics his pose, one hand folded under his head. “But no. It started three years ago, the summer we were delayed because of the rain and the fallen tree.” His voice goes soft. “When you made sure I was eating, even though I kept myself apart from everyone else.”

Dean rolls his head to the side to look at him. “And I didn’t even remember that until you mentioned it.”

“Which only goes to show how deep your kindness runs, that it felt completely ordinary to you and so special to me.” Castiel continues to stare upwards, not meeting Dean’s gaze. “I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t place it in a neat box, because it didn’t fit with the way I made myself see you, or with the way we interacted most of the time. And now, this week--” Finally, he glances over at Dean, eyes bright. “I was still trying to keep my walls up at first, but you have a way of sneaking past them. I did come to understand how complicated you are, when I’d always seen you as a generally simple person because that’s how you presented yourself. And I’m so sorry, Dean, for what I said to you that night. I didn’t know about your father, about how torn you were between your family here in the north and his legacy at the palace. I never should have said those things to you.”

Something eases in Dean’s chest, a tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding on to. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I’ll accept that apology, but I’m not sure about the one you made for that kiss.”

“I’m not sorry about the kiss,” Castiel says quickly. “I’m just sorry I didn’t ask you first. That we didn’t have this conversation beforehand.” He turns, propping his head on one hand as he looks down at Dean, gaze intent. “It wasn’t how I always imagined our first kiss would be.”

Dean inhales slowly, smelling the salt on the air and the faint hint of something floral from the soap in the bathing chamber. Castiel’s body blocks out most of the sun, but it still glints off the gold chain hanging from his neck, a reminder of the way so much history can go unspoken. Dean licks his lips and sees Castiel’s eyes drop to them immediately, sees his throat move as he swallows.

He can’t ask again. He’s reasonably sure Castiel’s answer will be very different than it was seven years ago, but despite his apology and his explanation, there’s still a lingering wariness in Dean’s heart. “Ask me,” he whispers. “Ask me now.”

Castiel’s eyes go warm and soft as he brings his head closer to Dean’s. “Dean,” he murmurs-- and it sounds so right, that name in his voice-- “may I kiss you?”

And Dean smiles, and tilts his face up, and says, “Yes.”

It’s soft at first, another question in the form of a kiss. Dean answers eagerly, and Castiel lets out a groan as he deepens the kiss, one hand still braced on the ground as the other cradles Dean’s face. He tastes like sunshine and the salt of the sea, and Dean is swept away on the tide of years of unspoken longing. Castiel kisses like a promise and an apology all in one, and that last icy shard of fear melts from Dean’s heart at the warmth of it.

Pulling back slowly, Castiel scatters small kisses across Dean’s cheeks, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Dean raises one hand and twines it in Castiel’s dark hair, the strands softer than he could ever have imagined, and pulls him back in for another kiss that leaves them both breathless.

Castiel rolls onto his back again, but his hand finds Dean’s and he twines their fingers together tightly. Dean closes his eyes, the sand warm beneath his back, and breathes in the clean, salt-scented air. He feels lighter, somehow, scoured by the wind and the waves and the sweetness of Castiel’s kiss. They still have the future to deal with, but finally, they can put the past to rest.

By unspoken agreement, they give themselves the rest of that shining, perfect day. A day to enjoy their surroundings, to marvel at the fact that they’re here together, that there’s a dragon scampering across gleaming golden sand and playfully chasing them into the shallows. Dean rolls up his trousers and dunks Claire into the water as she shrieks. Castiel watches with an amused smile, then wades in to join them and teams up with Claire to give Dean a good soaking of his own while Jack and Kaia cheer them on.

No matter what happens next, Dean knows he’ll remember this day for the rest of his life.

It isn’t until they’ve eaten their evening meal and are lounging on the cushions strewn around the main chamber that Castiel gives him a meaningful look. Dean sighs and straightens up, plucking at the embroidery on the closest pillow. Part of him wants to take Claire aside and speak with her privately, but like it or not, they’re all in this together now, and whatever decisions they make should take them all into consideration.

Castiel clears his throat. Kaia glances up, her shoulders tensing, and Dean gives her his most reassuring smile. He hasn’t asked for details on her background-- it’s not his place-- but it’s easy to see the fear of abandonment in the way she hovers close to Claire like she’s afraid she’ll disappear. Dean doesn’t want that for either of them, but--

“We need to talk about what comes next,” he says. “Kaia, you were able to speak to the queen last night?”

Kaia glances at Claire, then nods. “Yes. She thought it was a trick at first, but I convinced her. She knows Claire is safe, but I--” her voice lowers-- “disappeared before she could ask too many questions about our plans.”

Claire closes her eyes tightly. “I told you. I’m not--”

“Okay.” Dean holds up his hands. “Let’s think about it for a few minutes, alright?” He waits until Claire relaxes and opens her eyes, though she still looks braced for a fight. “You’re not a child anymore, Claire.” He nods in Jack’s direction. “And neither are you.”

“That means you make your own decisions, but also that you live with their consequences,” Castiel continues. “We can’t force either of you to return home.” He glances at Dean, and he nods in response to his unspoken question. “We won’t. What we’re asking, though, is that you consider doing so.”

Claire immediately lets out a noise of protest, but Kaia places a hand on her shoulder. “Hear them out.”

“We won’t ask you to stay there,” Dean says. “Again, that’s your decision, and you need to balance the expectations of your families and your kingdoms against your own wants and needs.”

“We’re only asking that you go home and assure your parents and your people that you are alive and well. They can learn to live with your absence should you choose to leave that life behind, but they don’t deserve to be left wondering what happened to you.” For the first time, there’s a hint of reproach in Castiel’s voice, and Jack ducks his head. “We thought you had been kidnapped. We thought Nofenne might have been involved. There could be a war declared any minute now, but you have the power to prevent it.”

“Forgive me if I’m missing something here.” Kaia’s voice is soft. “But couldn’t the two of you just return to the palace and explain that Jack and Claire have decided to live their own lives? That they’re perfectly well, there’s no political situation brewing, and proceed from there?”

Dean can’t fault for her not understanding the precarious situation he and Castiel are in. “We could,” he admits. “But while we swore oaths to Jack and Claire, to keep them safe and to obey them, we’re also bound by the laws of the kingdoms and the word of the queen.”

Kaia frowns as Jack and Claire’s faces go pale. “So…”

“So, if we return without the prince and princess, there’s a chance Dean and I will be arrested for treason.” Castiel keeps his voice neutral, and not for the first time, Dean is left awed by his control.

“No!” Claire jumps to her feet, eyes wild. “They can’t do that!”

“I’m sorry,” Dean tells her softly. “But they can.”

Kaia stands and lays a gentle hand on Claire’s elbow, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. Claire closes her eyes and nods, resting her head on Kaia’s shoulder for a brief second before pulling away.

“So what you’re saying is that you need us to protect you.”

Dean opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He grimaces at Castiel, who shrugs wearily in response.

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “I guess we do.”

Jack, who has been unusually subdued until now, sits up. “It’s a long walk back to the palace,” he points out. “Maybe Cimorene and I could take a message. So people aren’t worried for as long.”

Dean bites his lip to hide a smile as he looks over at Castiel, whose eyes have gone soft and proud. “That’s a wonderful idea, Jack, but considering most people don’t know dragons exist…”

“They might hurt her.” Jack sighs and runs his hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. “She’s nice, really, but I understand why people might be scared of her.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side, pensive. “But if they never saw her--”

“You mean, if we landed at a distance?” Dean shakes his head. “It’s too risky. Too many farms and villages around the palace. I don’t want Cimorene getting hurt.”

A small smile plays around Castiel’s lips. “You’re strangely protective of a creature that almost killed you.”

“It was an accident!” Dean and Jack say in unison. 

Claire turns to Dean, wide-eyed. “You almost died?”

He’d forgotten how much they skipped over during their first discussion. “Not really,” he mutters. “Also, I was a squirrel for a while, thanks to one of your girl’s spells.” He makes an ironic bow in Kaia’s direction. “Thanks for not making it something worse.”

Kaia bites her lips, but Dean can see a glimmer of laughter in her dark eyes. “You tripped the enchanted stones? Oh, I would love to discuss the effects of the spell with you. At a less tense time, of course.”

“Of course.” Dean claps his hands together. “Let’s not get too far off course, here.”

“So, to sum up: we need to all get back to the palace together, and as quickly as possible. Cimorene could only take us so far”-- Castiel breaks off to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at Jack-- “and probably not all of us at once?”

Jack nods. “Three is fine, but we’ve never tried any more than that, and I don’t want her getting hurt.”

“Of course.” Castiel blows out a deep breath and runs a hand over his face. “We could get as far as the edge of the forest, in groups if necessary, and send off our signal flare. One of the riding scout parties might see it, but they wouldn’t have extra horses, and we can’t send Jack and Claire back on their own even if we do commandeer their horses.”

“We left on our own,” Claire points out.

Dean snorts. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Claire rolls her eyes at him. “So where are we just going to acquire five horses, no questions asked, without risking exposing Cimorene?”

There’s only one answer, and as much as Dean doesn’t like it, he knows it’s the best solution. “My family’s farm,” he says heavily.

Castiel makes a small noise, and his eyes meet Dean’s. “That’s an option,” he says carefully.

Jack looks back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t understand why that’s any safer for Cimorene.”

“Well,” Dean says with a sigh, “we’d still want to land a bit further away. But it’s probably not a long flight for Cimorene, so she could set one group down, we’d go tell my family to expect company, and then she could come back for the rest of you.” He manages a small smile as he turns to Kaia. “And by the way, my mom and my brother are magic users, too.”

The look on her face, a flash of pure hope and longing, is what seals Dean’s decision. He looks around the room, but no one voices any objections.

“Okay then,” he says. “Tomorrow, we take a dragon ride to my past.”


	12. Chapter 12

Dean still isn’t sure how he feels about flying.

On the one hand, it’s pretty fucking thrilling, watching as Cimorene’s powerful wings cut through the air, sharp wind rustling his hair as she sails across the cloudless blue sky. On the other, it’s a long way down, and all of Dean’s (over)protective instincts are screaming at him, listing all the possible ways this could go wrong.

He, Claire, and Kaia are making the first trip south-east, with Jack and Castiel waiting by the ocean for Cimorene to return for them. It hadn’t even required discussion, that Dean would travel with Claire and Castiel with Jack. Now that they’ve found their respective charges, there’s no way either of them are letting the young royals out of their sight. It’s no indication of a lack of trust on either of their parts-- after the past few days, there’s no one Dean would trust with Claire’s safety more than Castiel-- but still, it was nice not having to argue about it.

Not arguing with Castiel is definitely new. Kissing him is equally new. Dean’s pretty sure someday they’re going to arrive at a blissful state of arguments interrupted by kisses (or kisses interrupted by arguments), and honestly, he can’t wait. 

But first, they have to get everyone back to the palace and deal with the fallout from Claire’s big adventure.

Kaia and Cimorene have had years to develop their own way of communicating, so when Dean starts to recognize the rolling hills and neat fields below them, he lightly taps Kaia’s shoulder and says, “This should do it.” Kaia nods, places her hand on Cimorene’s neck and croons something soft. Cimorene snorts as if in agreement and begins a slow, circling descent that makes Dean slightly dizzy, and before he knows it, she’s touching down on the soft grass of a meadow Dean used to play soldiers in as a child.

He’s dragged out of his reminiscing by the butt of Cimorene’s head against his. Laughing, he scratches her under her scaly chin, grinning as she lets loose a rumbling purr. While he continues to pet her, thanking her for bringing them here safely, he scans their surroundings for any signs of people approaching. Fortunately, the area appears clear, and as Claire and Kaia swing down from Cimorene’s back, he gives them a brief nod.

“No sense wasting time,” he says. “You up for a quick turnaround, Cimorene?”

He doesn’t need Kaia or Jack’s skill with the dragon to interpret her huff. Ducking to hide his smile, he gives her one last pat on her flank and watches as she takes to the sky once more.

Clearing his throat, he turns back to the girls. Claire is taking in their surroundings with undisguised curiosity, but there’s wariness in Kaia’s dark eyes. Dean gives her his most reassuring smile and says, “Don’t worry. We’ll be safe here.”

She nods, visibly drawing herself together, and Claire turns to twine their hands together in a silent show of support. It tugs at Dean’s heartstrings-- he’s getting soft in his old age-- and he nods his approval to Claire. More than ever, it’s clear how much she’s grown up, and he couldn’t be prouder of the woman she’s becoming.

He wonders what his own family will think of how much (or how little) he’s changed since the last time they saw him.

“This way,” he says brusquely, squaring his shoulders. “Kaia, do you have the trail set?”

She nods, a hint of a smile curving her lips as she speaks a strange word and the grass around her flares blue for an instant before settling back to its usual green. They’d planned this the night before: using her magic, Kaia would leave a trail visible only to Jack and Castiel that would lead them to the Campbell farm.

With that taken care of, only Dean’s doubts keep them from setting out. Shaking his head at himself, he waves the girls forward and falls into position at their backs. This is where he’s comfortable: protecting Claire. If he just focuses on that, everything else will sort itself out.

Claire and Kaia carry on a spirited conversation, interrupted only by Dean’s brief directions. Cimorene set them down about twenty minutes away from his family’s farm, and soon enough, he catches his first glimpse of the sprawling wood-framed house where he grew up. It perches on a slight rise, overlooking the surrounding fields, and while he braced himself, he’s still left feeling like he’s been punched in the gut when it comes into view.

Claire stops, throwing an inquisitive glance over her shoulder at him. Swallowing roughly, Dean moves up beside her and leads the way towards the house. There’s smoke curling lazily up from the chimney, and as they approach, he can hear brief snatches of conversation from inside.

It seems strange to knock on the door, but Dean does. Instinctively, he moves in front of Claire and Kaia, blocking them from sight, as footsteps approach.

The door swings open to reveal Sarah’s face. Her smile slips as she registers his presence, then returns even brighter than before. “Dean!” she exclaims. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”

Before Dean can answer, she turns inwards and shouts, “Sam! Mary! Dean’s here!”

“Not just me,” Dean says quickly. At Sarah’s puzzled frown, he steps aside, revealing Claire and Kaia. “It’s a long story, but…”

Sarah’s jaw drops, but she recovers quickly, sinking into a surprisingly curtsey. “Your Highness,” she murmurs. “This is an unexpected honour.”

“Please,” Claire says, stretching out her hand. “I’m not here in any sort of official capacity. Just Claire is fine.” She tugs Kaia forward, and Sarah hesitates, clearly unsure how to greet her. “And this is Kaia.”

Sarah nods politely. “You are both welcome here. Come in, please.”

She’s giving Dean a look of intense curiosity, but before he can offer any explanation, Sam comes clattering down the stairs from the upper level, nearly tripping over his long legs as he rushes towards Dean. “You’re here!” he says, smiling so broadly Dean worries his face might crack in two. “I thought Sarah was teasing me, but --”

His eyes widen as he catches sight of Claire and Kaia, and Dean raises a weary hand. “Yes, that’s the princess. No, don’t bow, you’ll just embarrass yourself.”

Claire giggles, and even Kaia’s watchful eyes brighten as Sam flushes. He shoots Dean an exasperated look and opens his mouth, but closes it with an audible snap as one last person joins the crowd at the front door.

Dean can’t think of anything to say, so he just steps forward into his mother’s arms. 

She smells like woodsmoke and herbs, just like she always has, and though her golden hair is streaked with grey, her eyes are as bright as ever. “Dean,” she whispers, holding him close. “It’s so good to see you.”

A deep sigh escapes Dean’s lips. “I’m sorry it’s been so long,” he whispers to her. He’s sorry for a lot of things, but now isn’t the time to get into that. With one last squeeze, he steps back from Mary and nods towards Claire and Kaia. “And that we’re here to ask for your help.”

With a slow nod, Mary makes a brief curtsey. “Welcome, ladies.” She raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Dean, but unlike him, she has enough patience to not immediately demand an explanation. “Come in, please. Let me get you something to drink.”

They follow Mary towards the large open kitchen space at the back of the house, where she pours them all large glasses of water infused with lemon and mint. Kaia smiles at the smell, and raises her glass in a silent toast to Mary. 

“Ah.” Understanding flashes across Mary’s face. “A fellow herbalist?”

“Something like that,” Kaia responds. 

Dean barely holds back a snort. Kaia is an enchantress powerful enough to not only cast a spell to turn a person into a squirrel, but to contain it in a stone until activated by touch. Some herbalist.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Sam who puts the pieces together. He looks between Claire and Kaia with narrowed eyes, not in judgment but only in consideration. “We heard of the princess’ disappearance, of course. We’re happy to see you well.”

Claire smiles wryly. “I’m sure you are. But are you happy to see me at your table?”

Sam nods firmly. “If we can be of service, then yes.”

Pride swells in Dean’s chest, and he grins at his brother. Sam’s grown up well, and though he was never trained for it the way Dean was, it seems there’s a hint of the protector in him too.

“Just what I hoped to hear,” he says. “We need horses. For the three of us, and for two more companions, who will be joining us shortly.”

Sam’s eyes narrow again, but it’s Sarah who speaks first. “The prince? And his protector?”

Dean points a finger in her direction. “I always knew you were a smart woman. Yes, Prince Jack and Castiel are on their way here. Once we’re all together, we need a discreet way to bring the prince and princess home.”

“Which implies that your method of arriving here was less than discreet.” Sam leans forward, eyes bright with interest. “Magic?”

“Something like that,” Kaia says again. She exchanges a grin with Claire, but doesn’t offer any further explanation.

It isn’t Dean’s secret to tell. “If we leave soon, we can ride most of the day,” he says instead. “We’ll camp overnight, and we should reach the palace by late afternoon tomorrow.”

Mary nods, her eyes distant. “Your mother must be so worried,” she says to Claire. There’s no rebuke in her tone, only sympathy, but Dean still sees Claire flinch. “Of course we’ll help you.”

Rising from the table, she claps her hands together. “Sam, get our five fastest horses ready. Sarah, pack up some provisions from the pantry, and some blankets from the bedchambers.”

Dean bites back a grin. His mother could have commanded armies, if the kingdom were at war. Instead, she rules over this house and this farm with the same iron authority as a general. 

“I’ll go with Sam,” he says, getting to his feet, but freezes in place as Mary shakes her head.

“No, you will not. The princess and her”-- a brief pause, and a knowing smile-- “companion will rest in the parlour. You and I will stay here, and have a proper talk.”

Dean quails under the force of her gaze. Gods, he’s glad Castiel isn’t here to witness him being bossed around by his mother. The look of glee on Claire’s face is humiliation enough.

“Good luck,” she mutters as she passes Dean, heading into the parlour just off the kitchen.

Dean makes a face at her back, then waits until Kaia has pulled the door closed behind her before turning to face Mary.

He opens his mouth to apologize again, but she shakes her head, eyes grave. “I don’t need an explanation, or answers about where the princess has been,” she says. “What I do need is for you to tell me why the first thing you said to me was that you were sorry.”

Dean blinks at her. It’s so obvious to him he doesn’t understand how she can’t see it. “For showing up so unexpectedly,” he says. “For demanding help. For not having been here in two years.”

His mother’s face softens, and she sighs. “Oh, Dean. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Of course there is!” he bursts out. “I’ve been a terrible son, and a terrible brother, and now I turn up here expecting your help with the princess when I’ve basically abandoned you and Sam for her.”

Mary recoils, eyes widening. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Dean leans against the table and lets out a bitter laugh. He doesn’t know where all this is coming from, except that he’s been thinking about it ever since Castiel asked him about his family. Thinking about how badly he’s treated them. “I left you and Sam behind to give my oath and my life to the princess. She needed protecting, sure, but it didn’t have to be me just because my father watched over hers.” He lowers his voice, hoping Claire can’t hear from the other room. “I had a duty to you, and to Sam. But I thought without magic, I couldn’t offer you anything, and--”

The rest of his outburst is cut off as Mary swiftly crosses the room and takes his face between her two hands. “You listen to me, Dean Winchester. Your brother and I have been nothing but immensely proud of you since the day you swore your oath as Royal Protector. You think we didn’t know what to expect? We lived with your father’s duty too, don’t forget.”

Dean opens his mouth again, but Mary raises an imperious hand. It’s exactly the sort of gesture Queen Amelia would use, and the surprise, more than anything else, quiets him. 

“And as for not having magic--” Mary shakes her head. “If I ever gave you the impression that was a disappointment, I am so sorry, Dean. Of course it was something Sam and I could bond over, but that never meant I loved you any less, or that I didn’t appreciate your own talents.”

“Mom, no,” Dean protests. “I didn’t mean--”

She gives him a sad smile. “I know, Dean. But don’t you see how it sounds?”

Taking a deep breath, Dean pauses to think over what he said. He never meant to make his mother feel bad, and if what she was saying was true, that she and Sam had been proud of him all this time, had never blamed him for being so absent--

The realization hits him with the force of one of Cimorene’s wingbeats. It’s exactly the same process he went through during Castiel’s confession, the slow reframing of things he thought so fixed, so simple and true. But maybe nothing ever is simple, even if it is true, because what’s true for one person isn’t always for another. 

Exhaling slowly, Dean says, “I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t talk about yourself that way,” his mother says sharply. “You certainly are not.” One corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile. “You just need someone to shake you out of your own head once in a while.”

Dean laughs. Between his mother, Claire, and Castiel, he doesn’t think he’ll be lacking in people willing to fill that role. 

Mary steps back, but one hand lingers on Dean’s face. “My brave boy,” she says softly. “Not everything has to be a battle, or a hard choice between one thing or another. Life is far more complicated than that.”

Letting go of his face, she traces her fingers over the rough-hewn wood table, following the lines on its surface. “You’ve been living your life like the rings of a tree trunk. Keeping things, or people, close but distinct, constantly orbiting each other without ever touching. And there’s room for growth there, or for centering yourself. But remember, a tree grows beneath the ground as well as above it. And deep down below, it’s one big mess of roots, tangled over each other and around each other in what looks like chaos but is actually harmony.”

Dean remembers the enormous fallen trees in the forest, the way he and Castiel took shelter among their roots. Stability, protection, expansion-- it was all there.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says to his mother, “that you’re incredibly wise?”

She smiles. “Yes, but it bears repeating.”

Dean finds himself smiling back, the same feeling of peace and contentment he felt at the beach the day before washing back over him. He starts to say something else, but Sam appears in the doorway, and Dean abandons his words in favour of pulling his brother into a rough hug. 

“Thanks, Sammy,” he says. What he should have said from the start, instead of his apology. 

With his usual intuition, Sam seems to know exactly what he means. “You’re welcome,” he says. “And by the way, your last two companions are here.”

The door to the parlour swings open and Claire comes tumbling out, shattering any hope Dean might have had of her not eavesdropping on his conversation with his mother. He gives her a stern look, which she blithely ignores in favour of charging towards the front door to greet Jack. 

“I can see why you’ve barely had time to visit,” Mary comments. “She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

Kaia, who has followed at a slower pace, shakes her head wearily, but her eyes are amused. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Dean scoffs, but honestly, he’d been tempted to run for the door himself. It’s only been a few hours, but he finds himself missing Castiel more than he expected. They’ve been in such close proximity for these past few days that it’s strange for Dean to look to his side and not see Castiel there. 

He strides off down the hall, through the front door and into the bright sunlight. Castiel is standing at ease as Claire and Jack chatter excitedly. His eyes light up as Dean moves towards him, but before he can say anything, Dean gathers him in his arms and kisses him in full view of the assembled company.

He’s allowed to have this. They both are. After dancing around each other for seven years, Dean isn’t going to waste another second of their time together. 

Castiel only hesitates for the space of a breath before kissing Dean back, matching him in intensity. It could be seconds, or it could be decades, before they break apart. Castiel shakes his head slowly, eyes clouded with desire, and a shiver runs through Dean’s body. Someday soon, when they don’t have an audience, he’s going to work very hard to put that look in Castiel’s eyes again, and find out what comes next.

“Hi,” he says, grinning. “I missed you.”

Castiel blinks, and Dean knows without a doubt he isn’t used to hearing those words. He’ll just have to say them over and over again, then, until the shock wears off. “I missed you too,” Castiel says, voice low. “But maybe you should introduce me now.”

“I think we’ve figured a few things out,” Sam comments drily from behind them. “Can’t say I’m surprised, really.”

Dean turns to glare at his brother. “Oh come on. I know you’re all smart and sensitive and in tune with the natural elements or whatever, but there’s no way you saw this coming. Hell, I never did.”

“And you were probably the only one who didn’t,” Claire chimes in. She’s standing with her arm laced through Kaia’s, and she’s grinning at Dean in absolute delight. “Come on, Dean. He was always staring at you, and you were always looking at him like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to kiss him or kill him.”

Outraged as he is by her eerily accurate assessment, he focuses on the first part of her statement. “Staring?” he asks, turning to smirk at Castiel. “Really?”

The tips of Castiel’s ears turn pink as he sets his jaw. “The princess exaggerates.”

“Not really,” Jack chimes in. “You do spend a lot of time looking at Dean.” As Castiel turns to look at him, he holds up his hands, face radiating innocence. “Not that you were ever remiss in your duty to me. Just--” He shrugs apologetically. “Well, you really did stare at him.”

Castiel straightens his shoulders and gives Dean a long-suffering look. “If that is the case, I suppose it’s long past time I met your family.”

Smiling, Dean beckons him forward. “Mom, Sam, Sarah-- this is Castiel. Sworn Protector to Prince Jack.”

“Hello!” Jack says, offering a cheery wave. “Thank you for welcoming us to your home, and for not panicking about the dragon.”

Castiel halts, his hand hovering in the air where he’d stretched it out to shake Sam’s. Dean winces, tensing as Jack’s words set in, and then--

“A dragon?” Sam practically screeches. “Dean, why didn’t you--” 

“Because I knew you would react like that,” Dean replies, rubbing his forehead. “If I promise to take you to meet her someday, can we focus on getting the princess home, please?”

“Fine.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest, an expression dangerously close to a pout on his face. “But just for that, I’m going to tell Castiel every single embarrassing story from your childhood that I can think of.”

“Oh, please say I can listen too,” Claire says eagerly. 

Grinning triumphantly, Sam throws a friendly arm around Castiel’s shoulder as he leads them towards the stables. “I know you’re in a hurry,” he starts, “so I’ll get the best ones in now, and we can go into more detail later.”

Castiel looks back and winks at Dean as Sam says, “So this one time, when Dean was maybe seven or eight, he decided he wanted to be a carpenter when he grew up. Our parents indulged him, of course…”

Mary shakes her head, slipping her arm through Dean’s. “Happy you came back?” she asks, teasing.

Even as Dean winces, he nods firmly. “Definitely,” he says. “And I promise to be back soon.”

“Good.” Mary taps him lightly on the chin. “And bring Castiel with you. I’d like to get to know him better. He’s not nearly as surly as you made him out to be.”

“No,” Dean says quietly. “He isn’t.”

He’s someone who fits into Dean’s life in ways he never dreamed possible, someone who has seen him at his worst and still found him worthy. Someone he wants his mother to know, someone he wants to build a life with. 

And once the prince and princess are safely home, Dean’s going to tell him exactly that.


	13. Chapter 13

There’s no time for extended farewells. With a flurry of goodbyes and hopes to see each other again soon, Dean swings into the saddle and nudges his horse southwards, towards the castle and the waiting queen. He can feel Castiel’s eyes on his back, but now he knows the weight of that stare comes from concern, not from judgment. 

With one last wave to his family, Dean says, “Let’s move out.”

They set a good pace, quick but not punishing. The Campbell farm raises some of the finest horses in the kingdom, but they have a long day and a half of riding ahead of them, and Dean wants to balance speed with caution as much as possible. While the mood isn’t exactly grim, it’s certainly sombre, and they make a quiet company as they pass over the fields and eventually join the main road running south. 

Now that the path is wider, Castiel draws his horse up beside Dean’s, lowering his voice so the others won’t overhear. “You know, we still have the flares.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. I know.”

They could set off the flares they’d carried so carefully since they left the castle. Now that they’re riding along the main road, the chances of another patrol seeing them are quite high. They could be joined by other guards within the hour, if luck was on their side.

“But you don’t want to use them.” Castiel’s voice is neutral.

Dean glances over his shoulder at Claire and Kaia, who are riding side by side, laughing and chatting about something Dean can’t quite hear. 

“We’re not in any danger,” Dean explains. “Not that we know of, anyway. The queen knows Claire is safe, and she’ll have passed on the message to your regents by now.” He steals another look at Claire, noting the brightness of her eyes and the breadth of her smile. “I don’t know what this is going to mean for them, going home. Can’t we give them one last night away from all the pomp and circumstance?”

Castiel smiles as he twists to look at Jack, who is clearly delighted at the chance to ride such a fine horse. He waves cheerfully to them, and Dean bites back a grin as he returns the gesture. 

“I think we have a duty to them,” Castiel says carefully, “and that includes their happiness.”

Dean sighs with relief. He’d been bracing for an argument, and doubting his own feelings in the meantime, but knowing he and Castiel are on the same page is enough to convince him they’re doing the right thing. Reaching down, he pats the saddlebag holding the flares. “These will stay here, then. Unless we happen to encounter another dragon, one who isn’t as friendly as Cimorene.”

Castiel shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Let us hope our journey home is less eventful than that.”

Fortunately, it is. They ride the rest of the day, then stop to make camp just as the sun is sinking in the west. Castiel quietly takes charge of setting up the tents provided by Dean’s family, joined by an eager Jack, while Dean and the girls see to the horses. 

Once everything is settled, they gather around a crackling fire, digging into the meal Sarah packed for them. Dean’s fingers brush against Castiel’s as they both reach for another chunk of bread, and Dean finds himself glad for the faint light of the fire, because he knows he’s blushing at just that brief touch. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Dean announces once they’ve finished eating. “Castiel, I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Castiel nods, rising to his feet, but Kaia clears her throat. “I can take a watch,” she offers. “I may not be as skilled with a sword as either of you, but, well--”

Dean smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’m in no doubts as to your abilities.” He exchanges a look with Castiel, who shakes his head. “Thanks for the offer. But you enjoy a night off. Cas and I have got this covered.”

“Cas, is it?” Claire says, raising one eyebrow at him.

Dean glares at her in return. He’s just given her another full night with her enchantress girlfriend, and this is what he gets in return? The disrespect would be astounding, if it weren’t so comforting after so many days apart.

Kaia leans in to whisper something in Claire’s ear, and she visibly softens. “Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes fondly. “You go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Castiel claps his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Time for bed. We’ve got another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Jack nods wearily, mumbling goodnights as Castiel guides him towards one of the tents. Castiel throws a small smile at Dean over his shoulder, then ducks inside the tent and is lost to sight, leaving Claire and Dean alone.

“So,” she says, looking down at the ground. “I realized I never really thanked you for coming to find us.”

Dean gapes at her for a moment, completely caught-- well, off-guard. “You don’t have to thank me, Your Highness.”

She shakes her head, circling the fire to come sit beside him. “I do, though. I know it’s your duty, but I also know it wasn’t just that.” She offers him a small smile. “You’ve always looked out for me, in every possible way. Even convincing me to come home when I didn’t really want to-- I know it’s for the best. And it’s good for me to have people who challenge me, not out of arrogance but out of concern. I need to learn to handle that, if I’m going to be queen.”

“If?” Dean repeats quietly. The rest of it, he isn’t sure how to answer, but this is something that’s clearly weighing on Claire’s mind. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, staring into the fire. “Well, you know the plan was for Jack and I to marry, and then for him to be crowned with me as his queen. For us to rule the two kingdoms together.” She looks up, her teeth flashing in the firelight as she grins. “I think it’s safe to say Jack and I will not be getting married.”

“But just think,” Dean teases, “Cimorene would make a lovely bridesmaid.”

Claire snorts with laughter. “True,” she concedes. “But that’s besides the point. What I mean is, without the wedding, Jack can be crowned whenever he wants. He can learn to stand on his own two feet, or he can say he needs more time. The regents are perfectly capable of running his kingdom until he’s ready to take up the throne.”

Dean can’t argue with that. Billie and Rowena are probably the two most competent people he knows-- terrifyingly so. “Go on.”

“My mother is still young, and she’s a great leader.” Even in the flickering light, Dean can see the wistfulness in her eyes. “I know how badly she wants this alliance, but I just don’t think we need a wedding to secure a bond between the two kingdoms. Jack and I are friends. True friends. Those ties are just as strong.”

Dean makes a noise of agreement, but doesn’t interrupt further.

“Why should we have to get married?” Claire continues, throwing her hands in the air. “And for that matter, why should we have to be crowned so soon, when both kingdoms are prosperous and well-tended? I’m not avoiding my duty-- not anymore,” she quickly clarifies. “You were right that running away wasn’t the solution. But going back and falling into line with expectations isn’t either.”

Reaching out, Dean lays a hand on her shoulder. “I am so proud of you,” he says roughly. 

She twists to look at him, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Really.” He squeezes her shoulder tightly before letting his hand drop. “You’ve just come to a conclusion it took me fifteen extra years to figure out, and only after some blunt advice from my mother.”

“I like your mother,” Claire says. “But that doesn’t explain anything.”

Dean laughs. Taking a deep breath, he sits up straighter, trying to find the best way to explain. “She told me not everything has to be a choice between one thing or another. That life is more complicated than that. And I think that’s exactly what you’re getting at. You don’t have to be a runaway, or the queen just yet. You have time to exist in the in-between. To just be Claire.”

She nods fiercely. “Yes. Yes, exactly.”

“And that’s a gift,” Dean continues softly. “We don’t always have that luxury. Like you said, the kingdoms are running well, under excellent stewardship. You and Jack have the room to breathe and grow that not every ruler is fortunate enough to have.” He smiles, raising one eyebrow at her. “So what are you going to do with it?”

She’s quiet for a moment, before reaching out to nudge him with her elbow. “What if I said I was going to surprise you?”

Dean groans. “No more surprises, please. I’m too old for this much excitement.”

“You’re not old,” Claire says, climbing to her feet. “And maybe you should remember that, too.”

She flaps her hand at him, signalling the end of the conversation, and disappears into her tent, leaving Dean to stare into the fire and ponder what she’s said.

Before he knows it, half the night has passed, and it’s time to wake Castiel for his watch. Dean starts to get to his feet, then freezes at a faint rustling sound. He relaxes when he sees Castiel’s shadowy form emerge from the tent. Of course he doesn’t need to be woken. Of course he can perfectly control his body and sleep for the precise amount of time he’s allotted before his watch.

Once, it would have irritated Dean. But now, it means Castiel raising a hand to cover a yawn as he drops to the ground beside Dean, then placing an absent kiss on his cheek. Dean laughs softly and angles his face in shameless suggestion, and Castiel responds with flattering speed. They trade gentle kisses until Castiel pulls away, sighing, and says, “Go get some rest.”

Dean can’t deny that he’s tired, but the tent seems so far away, and Castiel’s arms are warm and strong around him. “I’m good here,” he says.

Castiel huffs a laugh. “We finally have proper tents and bedrolls, and you want to sleep on the rough ground again?”

Grinning up at him, Dean says, “I got used to it.” He pauses, then adds, “Got used to you.”

“Charmer,” Castiel murmurs, cupping Dean’s face in one hand and pulling him in for another kiss. “That’s unfair.”

“Yeah, well, so is the fact that one of us has to remain alert,” Dean points out. “So until such time as we’re both off duty, this is the best we get.” Stretching out on the ground, he arranges himself with his head pillowed on Castiel’s lap and closes his eyes. “Tell me a story?”

One of Castiel’s hands cards gently through his hair, and Dean practically purrs at the touch. “Once upon a time,” Castiel begins, his deep voice reverberating in the quiet night, “there was a brave young man who wanted nothing more than to be a knight of great renown.”

Smiling to himself, Dean drifts off into sleep.

It’s late afternoon when they crest a small rise and catch sight of the castle.

Castiel is in the lead, and he throws a cautious glance over his shoulder at Dean. Dean, in turn, raises one eyebrow at Claire. “You ready for this?”

She grimaces, knuckles white where she grips the reins. “Not really. But it has to be done.”

Dean gives her a nod of approval. “Alrighty then. Let’s do this in style.”

They’ve paced the horses well, and at Dean’s gentle nudge, his gelding leaps forward, cantering down the incline and towards the castle. With a whoop, Claire follows, the rest of the party taking a second longer to catch up. Dean wishes he had a flag or a banner with him, to let it stream behind them as they race back to the castle, but Claire’s long hair flies free in the wind, shining brighter than gold. If Queen Amelia is watching from the ramparts, as Dean is willing to bet she is, she’ll see that bright banner soon enough.

About halfway towards the castle, they round a bend in the road. With a startled oath, Dean realizes he’d have lost that bet. Queen Amelia isn’t waiting for her daughter to come home to her-- she’s ridden out to meet her, the entire Royal Guard turned out behind her.

Dean slows his horse, patting his neck gratefully, as Claire chokes on a laugh that’s half a sob and nudges her own horse to even greater speed. She’s streaking down the road, calling out to the queen, who’s racing to meet her with equal urgency. 

They narrowly avoid crashing right into one another, and are off their horses and in each other’s arms so quickly Dean isn’t sure there’s no magic involved.

He can’t hear what they’re saying, but from the way the queen’s arms are wrapped so tightly around Claire and the way Claire has her face buried in her mother’s shoulder, he’s fairly certain he can guess.

It’s enough to tug at his heartstrings, but it isn’t the only reunion. Now that they’ve drawn closer, Dean can pick out Lady Billie and Lady Rowena in the crowd, approaching at a more sedate pace. He looks back over his shoulder to see a guilty grin on Jack’s face as he rides to meet them, one hand half-raised in an awkward wave.

“I’ve come back,” he announces, as though that isn’t evident to everyone there.

Beside Dean, Castiel lets out a quiet sigh. His eyes are fond, though, as he watches Jack dismount and make a brief bow to his regents. “I trust you had a pleasant ride?” he asks politely.

Rowena and Billie exchange long-suffering glances before Rowena gracefully dismounts and fusses with Jack’s collar. “We are glad to see you safe, Your Highness,” she answers. 

She turns her head towards Castiel, eyes flicking to Dean as well, and he gulps nervously under the weight of her inscrutable expression. “Well done, protectors.”

They both bow automatically, even though it’s awkward from the saddle, and Castiel replies, “It is my duty and my pleasure.”

“And you have performed it admirably,” Billie comments. “Now. Shall we return to the castle and hear your tale?” Her dark eyes swing over to inspect Kaia, who has been waiting silently in the background. “And introduce your new companion?”

At that, Claire breaks away from her mother’s embrace. “Oh! Kaia, I’m sorry, I--”

Kaia smiles and shakes her head. “There’ll be time enough for introductions once we reach the castle.” 

The queen turns to look at her, and Dean bites back a smile at the faint flush that rises in Claire’s cheeks. “Indeed,” the queen remarks. Smoothing Claire’s hair back from her forehead, she gestures to their waiting horses. “Let us ride home together, and then we’ll talk.”

And so they do. Claire and the queen ride proudly at the head of the column, with Jack and his regents just behind. Dean and Castiel fall into their natural positions behind their charges, with Kaia at their side. 

“How are you holding up?” Dean asks her quietly. 

She smiles. “I’m happy to see Claire happy,” she says. “I’m not used to being the centre of attention the way she is.”

Dean snorts with laughter. “Very true.” He starts to add that she might have to get used to it, but stops himself in time. He doesn’t know what plans Claire and Kaia have made, and frankly, it’s none of his business. But he’s come to like Kaia quite a bit, despite the fact that she turned him into a squirrel, and he hopes she and Claire can find some happy medium for their lives.

Once they arrive at the castle, the guards slip away to the barracks, leaving the queen to lead the rest of the party into one of the smaller audience chambers. It’s a cozy, comfortable room, and at her nod, the travellers sink into various chairs. Or at least the younger ones do-- unconsciously, Dean adopts his position behind Claire’s chair, and Castiel stands ready at Jack’s side. 

“Well,” the queen says. “You have some explaining to do, Claire.”

She isn’t cold-- far from it-- but she’s much more composed than she was out on the road, as if being back inside the castle has brought out the authority in her. There’s a hint of sternness in her eyes as she looks at Claire, and Dean feels a brief flash of pity for her. 

But Claire squares her shoulders and holds her head proudly high as she looks over at Kaia, seated just to her left. “Mother, I’d like to introduce you to Kaia. Properly, not just in a dream. She is”-- she falters for a moment, but at Kaia’s brief nod, continues-- “an enchantress of great power, but more than that”-- a small smile-- “she is my chosen companion.”

Queen Amelia makes a small sound of surprise, but quickly recovers her composure. “Forgive me,” she says. “That is an abrupt way to make an announcement, dear.” Her eyes linger on Kaia, and Kaia looks back at her calmly. After a moment, the queen gives a wry smile. “And so, if I understand you correctly-- you ran away to be with this young woman, and to avoid a betrothal to Prince Jack?”

“I’m not upset about it,” Jack chimes in. “In case anyone is wondering.”

“I am glad to hear it, Your Highness,” Rowena says. “But what of the alliance?”

Claire draws in a deep breath, and Dean reaches down to grip her shoulder in silent support. “We have already built an alliance,” she says firmly. “One of friendship and mutual aid, not only between Jack and I but between all those who travel between our lands every summer. There is no need for a wedding in order to give it legitimacy.”

Her words ring loudly in the suddenly-tense room. Dean thinks he sees a gleam of approval in Lady Billie’s eyes, but he can't be sure. Besides, he’s much more concerned about the queen’s reaction.

“After all these years--” she says softly. “For it to come to nothing?”

Claire shakes her head. “You’re not listening, Mother. I’m telling you it has come to something. It has come to exactly what you wanted, just without a wedding. We’ve grown the relationship between Anatiac and Dysland, and Jack and I will be friends for life. We will honour and protect each other with just as much trust as we would were we married, just without all the--” She flaps her hand in the air, blushing slightly. “Married things.”

The queen lets out a heavy sigh. “Very well,” she says. “I can see there’s no changing your mind. And so long as our Dyslander friends have no cause to feel slighted--” She looks over at the regents, who shake their heads. “There is no formal agreement that has been broken, I suppose. Only a mother’s hope.”

“I know more than anything you hope me happy,” Claire responds. “And I am. Please believe that.”

The queen nods again, then visibly draws herself up. “Now. To decide on what we tell the people.” Her gaze flickers from Claire to Jack and then to Kaia, considering. “The two of you rode into the woods on a dare, perhaps. Youthful high spirits. And you became lost, remaining so until your loyal Royal Protectors tracked you down to bring you home.”

Dean frowns. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. It isn’t his place to offer an opinion on the queen’s strategy.

He expects Claire to do so, but before she can, Jack speaks up. “No,” he says, with uncharacteristic firmness. “Sorry, Your Majesty, but I will not lie to my people, or to yours. I understand your desire to gloss over the details of what happened, but it isn’t right.” He looks at Claire, and she nods approvingly at him. “Claire and I may be young, but we made a decision. It was, we now know, the wrong one. We should have faced our uncertainties rather than running from them, but pretending doesn’t help anyone. We aren’t children anymore, even when we act rashly, and our people deserve to know that we’ve made mistakes, and that we’re trying to learn from them.”

Everyone in the room is staring at Jack, stunned, but Dean is watching Castiel, the complicated series of emotions that flicker over his normally stoic face. In the end, what remains is pride, clear and true. It’s the same thing Dean felt listening to Claire speak, and more than ever, he realizes just how much he and Castiel have in common after all.

“Well said, Your Highness,” Billie says. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, obviously pleased at her compliment. “And I agree. While it might be disheartening for the people to think our prince and princess abandoned their duties, they will be proud when they hear how they returned.”

“It’s not a reflection on you, Mother,” Claire says softly. “We made our own choices. Please let us follow them through to their conclusions.”

The queen sighs, toying with the gold chain around her throat. Tucked into her gown, Dean knows, is a locket containing a portrait of the late king. “Your father would be so proud of you,” she says to Claire, a wry smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Very well. You and Prince Jack may tell your tale to the court tomorrow, and it will spread rapidly, as gossip always does.” She hesitates, then asks, “But what of the betrothal ball? All the preparations have been made, and so many people have been looking forward to it.”

“Hold the ball anyway,” Jack suggests. “It can be Kaia’s debut.”

Kaia makes a choked sound, but Claire grins in delight. “Oh, yes!” she exclaims. “You can meet Patience, and Alex, and Charlie, and--”

“Easy, Princess,” Dean murmurs. “Maybe one at a time?”

“No.” Though she looks slightly pale, Kaia shakes her head. “It’s a good idea. I want to know the people who matter to you, Claire. And though the thought of so much attention is overwhelming--” a small smile lights her face-- “I have always wanted to attend a ball.”

“Then you shall, my dear,” the queen says, bestowing a warm smile on her. For all her difficulty adjusting to the notion of Jack and Claire not getting married, she hasn’t seemed to blame Kaia for it. Dean has no doubt that before long the two of them will hold each other in great fondness.

“Now,” the queen says briskly. “Off to bed with you. You’ve had a long day-- or week-- and you must wish to bathe and rest.” 

One by one, they begin to rise and make their goodbyes, but as Castiel begins to follow Jack towards the door, the queen holds up her hand. “Not you, Castiel. A moment, if you please.”

Dean and Claire both turn to look at her, surprised, as Castiel freezes in place. “Of course,Your Majesty,” he murmurs, but Dean can read the apprehension behind his eyes. 

“Claire, you stay as well. Dean, you may go.”

Dean wants to protest. But there’s no mistaking the queen’s instructions as anything other than an order, so he bows, meeting Castiel’s eyes as he straightens. He discreetly touches his fingers to his lips, both a salute and a silent gesture of support, and Castiel returns the gesture before turning his attention to the queen.

Dismissed, Dean heads for his own chambers. He nods to the guards on patrol in the halls, but pleads exhaustion when they ask him about his time away. Once inside, he collapses on his bed and lies staring up at the ceiling, wondering what on earth the queen could have wanted to discuss with Castiel. 

His curiosity keeps him awake for some time, listening for the familiar creak of Claire’s chamber door, but as the evening slips into night, the hall remains quiet.

He did what he set out to do. He brought Claire home. He might not know what comes next, for her or for himself, and finally, secure in the knowledge of a job well-done, he sleeps.


	14. Chapter 14

In the grand scheme of things, Dean wasn’t away from the castle for that long. It just feels like everything has changed, even though he goes through his familiar rhythms and sees the same faces he did a week ago. 

Maybe he’s the one who has changed.

Claire has declared she has no interest in planning the ball and left the matter entirely in the queen’s hands. Dean doesn’t mind-- standing around while decisions about floral arrangements are made has never been his favourite part of the job. Instead, he trails after Claire as she shows Kaia the castle, accompanies them on a visit to the Royal Academy, and spends long hours in the gardens as they stroll together hand in hand.

The best part is that Jack spends most of his time with them, and where Jack goes, Castiel isn’t far behind.

They’re both far too professional to let their attention waver from their charges for long. But just being able to chat softly while standing guard, to trade amused glances in response to something Jack says-- to exist alongside each other without the friction that characterized their relationship for seven long years-- is a gift Dean will never tire of.

He’s still hoping for another kind of friction, though. Someday. He’s pretty sure Castiel is too, judging from the heated looks he gets from those blue eyes, but the memory of that long-ago rejection still rears its ugly head on occasion, and Dean isn’t about to push things. For now, he’ll savour the soft looks, the occasional fleeting brush of Castiel’s hand against his, or the way their legs twine together under the table as they play endless games of peril on the rainy afternoon before the ball.

Claire and Kaia have already left to begin their preparations, and Jack is currently dozing in front of the fireplace with one of the castle cats curled up on his lap. Animals are drawn to him, Dean’s noticed, from the cat to the hunting hounds to the little birds that live in the gardens. And, of course, Cimorene. He wonders if it’s some buried magical talent, or just Jack’s pure decency that attracts them. 

He’s about to ask Castiel for his opinion when he looks up to see that Castiel has taken advantage of his distraction and made a winning move. Dean’s mouth drops open, and he points an accusing finger at Castiel. “That’s unfair,” he protests.

Castiel raises one eyebrow in response. “It’s not my fault you were distracted.”

Dean pouts, but he isn’t really annoyed. Not like he would have been, before their whole journey through the forest. He sneaks another glance at Jack, who looks to be fast asleep, before fluttering his lashes at Castiel and whispering, “I’ll show you distracted.”

Leaning across the table, he captures Castiel’s lips in a kiss. He feels a startled intake of breath before Castiel responds enthusiastically, his lips parting under Dean’s gentle encouragement and a small sigh escaping him. 

Dean sinks further into the kiss, half out of his seat with most of his upper body leaning across the table. They haven’t had the luxury of this much uninterrupted time since they’ve returned to the castle, and it’s all too easy for Dean to lose himself in the feeling of Castiel’s lips against his.

Apparently, he isn’t the only one caught up in the sensation-- Castiel moves to mimic his pose, stretching himself over the table, but the motion disrupts the Peril board and sends the pieces to the floor with a clatter.

The cat leaps off Jack’s lap, and he startles awake, blinking at Dean and Castiel as they hastily disentangle themselves and gather the fallen pieces. As Castiel crouches to pick up a piece that has rolled under the table, Dean catches sight of his flushed cheeks and grins to himself. He still enjoys messing with Castiel’s cool composure-- but doing so by kissing is a lot more fun than by arguing.

Jack turns slightly pink himself, eyes darting between Dean and Castiel like he isn’t quite sure what to say. Eventually, he gives a small shrug and a smile of what Dean hopes is approval, then coaxes the cat back onto his lap and carefully avoids looking back in their direction.

Castiel snorts under his breath. “I do believe we’ve just been granted royal permission to carry on.”

“That’s nice,” Dean says, as if he would ever let something like that stop him. Well, maybe. But not in this case. A sudden thought strikes him, and he fixes Castiel with a pleading look. “Hey, by the way. When are you going to tell me what the queen wanted to talk to you about the other night?”

He’s been asking persistently since then, but Castiel has remained close-lipped on the subject. Maybe now that he’s been kissed into a good mood--

“Not yet,” Castiel replies. “You’ll find out at the ball, like everyone else.”

Dean pouts. “But I’m not like everyone else.”

Castiel’s eyes soften, and he steps forward to cup Dean’s cheek in one hand and press a kiss to his forehead. Dean will deny it to his dying day, but that sweet gesture unravels him even more than the steamy embrace they just shared. 

“No,” Castiel agrees, “you’re not.” One corner of his mouth lifts, eyes bright with laughter. “I know patience isn’t one of your virtues, but you’ll just have to put it into practice anyway.”

Dean drops his voice low. “Will I be rewarded for it?”

He sees the flare of desire in Castiel’s eyes and smiles in satisfaction. “Yes,” Castiel answers. “You will.”

That’s good enough for Dean. Glancing out the window, he sees that the sun has begun to sink in the sky. “Time to get ready,” he announces. 

Jack stands, still clutching the cat to his chest, and heads for the door. “Come on, Castiel,” he calls over his shoulder. “You’ll want to look your best tonight.”

Dean narrows his eyes as Castiel tries to slide away. “Wait. Does he know something I don’t?

Castiel attempts an innocent expression that doesn’t fool Dean for a second. “He ordered me to tell him, Dean. I can’t ignore a royal command.”

Sighing, Dean waves him towards the door. “Fine,” he says. “See you at the ball.”

He’s about to turn away when he feels a warm hand close over his elbow. Castiel tugs him forward into a kiss, then pulls away to whisper, “See you at the ball.”

Dean is left standing with a dazed smile on his face as the door shuts behind Castiel and Jack. After a second, he shakes himself out of his vivid daydreams and hurries to his own chambers. If his instincts are correct, it’s time for another very thorough bath.

Dean has attended countless balls over his years as Royal Protector, and they all tend to run together in his mind, but this one is different from the start.

First of all, when he knocks on Claire’s chamber door to escort her down to the ballroom, it’s answered by Kaia. Dean blinks in surprise, but recovers quickly, and smiles at the sight of her in a brilliant yellow and gold gown, her hair pulled back in an intricate knot. 

She gives him a small smile, but he can see the nervousness behind her eyes. “How do I look?” she asks.

Dean makes his best bow. “Like someone who belongs here.”

Her smile widens as she looks back over her shoulder into the chamber. “Claire! Are you ready? We don’t want to be late.”

Claire comes rushing to the door a minute later, her sapphire blue gown a stunning contrast to Kaia’s. “We can’t be late to our own ball, silly. You’re the guest of honour.”

She drops an absent kiss on Kaia’s cheek, and Dean fights back a smile. They’re adorable together, frankly, and if they keep this up all night, he’s likely to get teary. 

“Alright, alright,” he says, ushering them out the door. “Save it for your audience.”

Claire rolls her eyes, but takes Kaia’s arm in hers as she sweeps out the door and down the hall, Dean trailing behind. He returns the salutes from the guards they pass along the way, and soon enough, they’ve arrived at the ballroom. 

The herald waits politely as Claire turns to Kaia, eyes serious. “Last chance to turn back.”

Kaia hesitates, but only for a moment. “No,” she says, lifting her head high. “I’m ready.”

The doors swing open as the herald announces, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Claire, accompanied by Lady Kaia of the Northern Shores.”

Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes. As far as he knows, Kaia has never called herself anything like that, but the court loves a dramatic entrance, and he can admit it does sound quite impressive. 

He isn’t announced, of course. Technically, he’s not here a guest, but in his official capacity of bodyguard. So as Claire and Kaia walk proudly towards the dais at the other end of the room, he slides off to the side, melting into the crowd while keeping his line of sight unobstructed.

He can see Jack already waiting on the dais, which means Castiel must be here somewhere--

And there he is, on the other side of the room, eyes solemn as he watches Claire and Kaia make their curtsies to the queen and the regents. Dean’s heart skips a beat at the sight of him, looking unfairly attractive as always in his uniform, but without the aura of aloofness he used to emit. Now, he’s someone Dean has touched, both physically and emotionally, and someone he really wants to touch again.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, Castiel turns his head slightly and meets Dean’s eyes. His expression doesn’t change, but he lowers one eyelid in a slow, unmistakable wink, and Dean feels a shiver of anticipation run through him. 

Smiling happily to himself, he directs his attention back to the dais, where Queen Amelia has risen to give her introductory speech.

“Welcome all,” she says, her voice perfectly pitched to carry to all corners of the room. “We have gathered here tonight not only to celebrate the safe return of my daughter, our princess, but to welcome her companion, Lady Kaia.”

She pauses while Kaia raises a hand to the crowd in a shy wave. An approving murmur runs through the room, and the queen smiles briefly before continuing. 

“While I could discuss my feelings on my daughter’s adventure at length, I believe it would be best to hear from her.”

With a gracious wave, the queen beckons Claire forward. Dean stands straighter, both out of protective instinct and curiosity. Claire has been tight-lipped about this speech, and he’s in as much suspense as the rest of the audience as she takes a deep breath and begins.

“Good evening, people of Anatiac,” she says, her voice ringing through the hushed hall. “I am more pleased than you know to be among you once again.” She shrugs ruefully. “Before all else, I wish you to know that when I left this castle several days ago, it was not out of a desire to be away from you, but only out of a misguided notion that I had to make a choice.” She casts a look at Kaia over her shoulder, and even at a distance, Dean can see the fondness in her eyes. “Fortunately, I am in a position where I can be both with you and with my beloved.”

The crowd breaks into spontaneous applause, and Claire grins brightly. “Thank you for your support, and for welcoming Lady Kaia so graciously. It means the world to us both.” She pauses, expression turning serious. “To Lady Billie and Lady Rowena, thank you for your understanding. I am well aware that the proposed alliance between our land and yours was born of your genuine desire for peace and prosperity for us both, and I pledge to work towards that end despite there being no betrothal.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. They would likely have guessed that the planned engagement was in jeopardy when Claire returned with Kaia on her arm, but this is the first formal acknowledgment of it. 

Claire falters, but visibly gathers herself and turns to Jack. “Prince Jack, you have been my most trusted friend for many years. I hope that friendship will continue to unite us and our kingdoms for many more years to come.”

Jack smiles at her and makes a low bow, signalling his deep respect. Glancing around the room, Dean sees faces lightening at this show of goodwill, and lets go of the unconscious tension he had been holding in his shoulders. 

“Now,” Claire says briskly. “As to matters of state. As you all know, Prince Jack was due to take up his throne following our engagement. After long discussion with the prince and his regents, it has been decided that his coronation will be delayed until such time as he feels he is ready. And as for the situation here--”

Dean leans forward intently. Amelia is queen in her own right, not merely holding the throne until Claire comes of age. Her choosing Kaia over Jack should have no effect on the succession, but if she has suddenly decided she would rather live with Kaia in the house by the sea--

“I will remain the princess-heir,” Claire announces, “and continue to spend most of my time here at the castle, learning from my mother’s excellent example.” She gives the queen a small smile, which Amelia returns. “I may take some trips to my lady’s northern home, but I promise to leave in daylight, and with no sneaking around.”

A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd, and Dean shakes his head as Claire winks at him. “However,” she says, holding up one hand, “there is a matter regarding the royal family of Anatiac that we must discuss.”

Dean frowns, and sees the same look of confusion on many of the faces surrounding him. “Castiel Novak,” Claire says, “will you step forward?”

Barely managing to suppress a startled oath, Dean watches as Castiel moves towards the dais, sinking gracefully into a bow as he approaches. His face is calm, composed, and while Dean knows that’s often a mask for deep emotion, he’s fairly certain Castiel is one of the few people in the room who knew this was coming. 

“You may know Castiel in his role as Royal Protector to Prince Jack,” Claire continues, gesturing to him to rise. “But what you may not know is that we are cousins, of a sort.”

She lifts a hand to quiet the excited noises from the crowd. “Castiel’s great-grandfather was our dearly respected King Cain, who fathered a child before his marriage to Queen Susan.” Her voice turns steely, and Dean grins to himself at the fierce look on her face. “If any among you have doubts as to his lineage, I suggest you look closely at him, and at the portrait of my father that hangs in this hall.”

As several of the assembled guests do just that, Dean continues to watch Castiel, who stands proud and silent at Claire’s side. The queen gathers her gown in one hand and descends the steps to meet him, laying one hand on his shoulder before addressing the room once more. 

“It is long past time we acknowledged Castiel as a member of this family,” she says. Dean is familiar enough with her to pick up on the note of regret in her voice, and wonder if it was Claire’s disappearance and return that suddenly had her thinking about other lost family members. “Time that we acknowledged our past, in order to embrace our future.”

Dean smiles to himself at that. His smile widens as the queen squeezes Castiel’s shoulder and returns to her throne, Claire following after her, leaving Castiel alone in front of the crowd.

He looks like he could belong there. But he also looked like he could belong with Dean out in the woods under the stars, or sprawled in the grass on the shore of the sea, or sitting at the table in his mother’s kitchen. All Dean knows is that wherever Castiel is, he wants to be there with him.

“Thank you for this announcement,” Castiel says, his voice steady. “It is a relief I would not have anticipated being so great, to be known for who I am and where I have come from. However--” he casts a look up at Amelia and Claire-- “if I may, I will take this opportunity to declare before you all that I have no interest in the throne. I remain, as ever, a devoted servant to Prince Jack, to Dysland, and to my family, but I have no desire to channel that devotion into ruling.”

Very neatly done. Tongues would have started wagging immediately, wondering if he had come to make a bid for the throne, and with one brief speech, Castiel silenced them. Competent as ever, Dean thinks fondly. 

“We are delighted to hear it,” Jack says, rising. “And in recognition of that devotion, which was what brought Princess Claire and I home”-- he looks out into the crowd, his eyes locking on Dean’s-- “we ask that Dean Winchester join us here.”

Dean freezes. Curious heads turn in his direction, and someone gives him a gentle nudge. Stumbling slightly, he moves toward the dais. Castiel turns to look at him as he approaches, and at Dean’s widened eyes, he only shrugs. “I didn’t know about this part,” he whispers. 

Coming to a halt, Dean makes a deep bow. “Your Highness.”

Claire also rises and stands beside Jack, smiling mischievously at him. “Did you really expect we would let your commitment stand unacknowledged?”

Dean feels himself flush. “I was just doing my job,” he mutters. 

“As was I,” Castiel adds.

“Maybe,” Jack concedes. “But you both do your jobs extremely well, and the fact that Claire and I are standing here today is proof of that. Not only have you protected us from physical harm, but you’ve taught us many of the valuable lessons we will need as future rulers.”

“And to that end--” Claire holds out her hand, which she had previously been hiding behind her back. Dangling from her fingers are two beautiful gold medallions on fine white ribbons. “In gratitude, in friendship, and in deepest honour, I present to Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester the Medals of Valour.”

Distantly, Dean registers the sound of cheers and applause, but all he can focus on is the smile on Claire’s face as she drapes the ribbon over his head and carefully adjusts the medal so it hangs properly. “I told you I would surprise you,” she reminds him.

“You always do,” Dean replies around the lump in his throat. There’s so much more he wants to say, but instead, he sweeps a low bow as Jack places Castiel’s medal around his neck. Then, at Claire’s eye-roll and not-so-gentle nudge, they turn to face the crowd, side by side.

As the applause dies down, Claire lifts a hand once more. “Thank you all for your attention,” she says. “Now, I am glad to announce, the time for talking is over.” Her face lights up as she extends her hand to Kaia, who descends the steps to join her. “Now it’s time to dance.”

They move onto the floor, the crowd withdrawing to the edges of the room to give them space. The musicians begin to play a soft, sweet melody, and Dean doesn’t even try to hide his smile as Claire and Kaia dance, their skirts swirling around them as they dip and twirl in time with the music.

Slowly, other pairs begin to join them. Jack makes a gallant bow to the queen, and Dean catches the proud look on Castiel’s face as they move towards the floor, quickly followed by Billie and Rowena. 

Dean is content to watch the dancers, to enjoy the music from his usual position on the fringe of the crowd, but as he looks around the room, his eyes linger on Castiel. There’s an expression on his face that Dean takes a moment to decipher. At first, he thinks it might be subtle irritation-- but after another glance, he’s pretty sure it’s more like longing. 

He could let it pass, pretend he never noticed, and carry on. But the likelihood of danger is extremely low, there are other guards scattered around the room, and if Castiel wants to dance, then there’s no damn way Dean is going to let it be with anyone else. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, angling his body towards Castiel. “Do you want to dance?”

Castiel turns to face him, eyes wide. “We’re here on duty,” he says, sounding so much like the straight-laced version of himself Dean used to know. 

“That’s not what I asked.” Dean smiles. “I asked if you wanted to dance.”

Slowly, Castiel pulls his lower lip between his teeth, which sends all the blood in Dean’s body rushing south. “Yes,” he says after a long pause. “I’d like that.”

It’s going to be torture, holding him so close and being forced to keep his hands in respectable places, but Dean will survive. Bowing, he holds out his hand, and with a fond shake of his head, Castiel takes it.

Dean is aware of several sets of eyes on them as they join the dancers, but he ignores them. He focuses on Castiel, only on Castiel, on the warmth of his calloused palm and the brilliance of his blue eyes. Dean rests his hands on Castiel’s lower back, pulling him as close as decency permits, and lets the music guide them.

It comes as no surprise that Castiel is a good dancer. There’s a similarity between the rhythms of dance and swordplay, and even when he was annoyed by it, Dean recognized Castiel’s talent at the latter. He’s graceful on his feet, and as they continue to dance, the slight tension slips from his body until he’s pliant and smiling under Dean’s hands. It sends all sorts of delicious thoughts crowding into Dean’s brain, and he has to duck his head to avoid letting Castiel see the stark desire he’s sure is written on his face.

In doing so, his eyes are drawn to the new ribbon around Castiel’s neck, and to the fact that the thin gold chain he used to wear is no longer present. Frowning, he tugs at Castiel’s hand where it rests on his shoulder, then smiles at the sight of the gold signet ring on his finger. 

“That was what the queen wanted to talk to you about, wasn’t it?” he asks.

Castiel nods. “She was incredibly gracious, and surprisingly humble. She apologized for not acknowledging our connection earlier, and admitted she found it difficult to look at me sometimes because of the late king.”

Dean can’t fault her for that, but he hates knowing what Castiel endured all those years because of his resemblance to King James. Judging by the serene expression on Castiel’s face, though, the queen’s apology has gone a long way towards soothing that hurt. 

“Still can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me,” Dean grumbles. “After all we’ve been through.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but his fingers brush lightly against the side of Dean’s neck in a caress that sends shivers down his spine. “I’m still learning,” he says quietly. “Not learning to trust you. That happened some time ago. But what to do with that trust.”

Twisting his head, Dean manages to press a kiss to the back of Castiel’s hand. “I can be patient.” He grins as Castiel flushes. “But don’t make me wait seven more years, please.”

Laughing, Castiel spins him out, then reels him back in so their chests are pressed flush together. He’s gorgeous like this, face free and open, and Dean really, really wants to kiss him in front of all these people. 

He doesn’t have to decide whether that’s a good idea, though, because Castiel does it first. Just a brief, close-mouthed kiss, but it’s still a very public declaration, and when he pulls back, Dean chases after him to respond in kind. 

It isn’t until he’s standing there, breathless, that he realizes the music has stopped. Stepping back with a guilty grin, Dean meets Claire’s eyes from across the room. Shaking her head, she mouths, “Go,” at him, and he frowns at her. She rolls her eyes, and Kaia makes a discreet motion with her hands. “Get a room,” Claire’s voice whispers in his ear, with the unmistakable tickle of magic. “Charlie is here. And so is Kaia. Nothing is going to happen to me, or to Jack.”

Some other time, when he isn’t distracted by how much he wants to keep kissing Castiel, he’ll think it’s a bit weird for Claire to basically be dismissing him for this purpose. But right now, he just winks at her and bows.

“Hey,” he says, turning to Castiel once more, eyebrows raised. “Wanna get out of here?”

He can see the hesitation on Castiel’s face, so he nods towards Charlie, whose bright head is visible just behind Claire and Kaia. “They’re covered.”

Castiel laughs, but his hand slides down Dean’s arm until it rests in his. “Yes,” he says, and tugs Dean towards the doors.

In the garden, under the bright moon, they kiss until Dean’s lips are swollen. By unspoken agreement, it doesn’t go further than that-- Dean meant it when he said he could be patient-- but when he and Castiel finally say goodnight, long after the noise from the ballroom has stopped, Dean thinks he’s never enjoyed a ball more.


	15. Chapter 15

The sun shines down brightly, but there’s a crispness to the breeze that ruffles Dean’s hair as he eases Impala into a trot. He looks over his shoulder as Castiel brings his horse up beside him, smiling softly.

“Not far now,” he says, and moves to take the lead as they branch off from the main road onto a smaller path leading southwards.

They’ve spent the past day and a half making this journey, after being told in no uncertain terms that they were both due for a vacation. Dean had argued against it long enough that the queen almost had to order him to leave. But now that he’s here, riding in comfortable silence beside Castiel, he’s forced to admit that maybe it was a good idea after all.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” he asks.

Castiel doesn’t need him to specify who. Of course not. “Probably visiting the Academy,” he says. “On a beautiful day like this, Claire would enjoy the ride, and both Jack and Kaia seem to prefer it to the castle.”

Dean laughs. “True. And they’ll have to get their library time in now before the visit to Nofenne.”

That was the other reason for this leave of absence: instead of returning to Dysland at the end of summer, Jack had declared he wished to make a state visit to his aunt Amara, queen of Nofenne, in the autumn. The idea had been heartily approved by Queen Amelia, who wanted a closer alliance with Nofenne, and by the regents, who were apparently quite friendly with Amara. Since there was no question of Dean and Castiel not being part of that delegation, they had been sent on their vacation beforehand, with plans to meet the others in a week’s time and complete the journey to Nofenne together.

“Now that will be an adventure,” Castiel comments. “I’ve never met Queen Amara, but I hear she’s rather intimidating.”

“So are Billie and Rowena,” Dean points out. “Besides, Jack will charm her just like he does everyone else. And I’m sure she and Queen Amelia will have plenty to discuss.”

Castiel opens his mouth to reply, then shuts it with a wry smile. “Do we have nothing to discuss other than what’s happening back home?”

It stings, slightly, but Dean knows he doesn’t mean any offense. “Sure we do,” he says. “We’re just bad at talking about ourselves outside of our roles, which is probably exactly why the queen wanted us to have some time to ourselves.”

“I’m not sure how to feel about her level of investment in our relationship,” Castiel says, frowning.”

Dean waves a dismissive hand in the air. “She spent seven years trying to encourage a match between Jack and Claire only for that to fizzle out, and for Claire to find her partner on her own. She needs somewhere to direct that energy now, and hey, there we were.”

There had been no possibility of secrecy or even subtlety after that kiss at the ball. Dean doesn’t mind-- he’s damn proud to have Castiel at his side, in his arms-- but he knows Castiel is still adjusting to the way people look at him in light of the queen’s speech that night, and his relationship with Dean only adds to that scrutiny. It’s almost always positive interest, nothing like the whispers he used to overhear, but still, Dean thinks it’s probably a nice break for him to leave the castle behind for a while.

They fall back into silence for a few minutes, until Castiel slows his horse even further and says, “We’re here.”

Just around the curve in the road, Dean can make out the edge of a thatched roof. Castiel swings down from his horse, so Dean does the same, following him along an overgrown track through the grass until suddenly the house is right there in front of them.

Dean plants his hands on his hips and takes it in: sturdy wooden walls, thatched roof in need of some repair, a vegetable garden with squash and tomatoes visible under the weeds. It’s clear no one has lived here in quite some time, but equally clear that at one point, it was a well-loved and well-tended home.

“So,” he says, “this is where you grew up.”

They’d debated for hours over where to spend this time. Dean considered bringing Castiel back to his family’s farm, but ultimately decided it wouldn’t serve the purpose of giving them time alone. Kaia had offered them the use of her house by the sea, and as much as Dean had loved it there, it was a long journey in the opposite direction of Nofenne.

At that point, Castiel had cleared his throat, uncharacteristically hesitant, and suggested they visit his childhood home on the edge of the forest. It would be quiet, peaceful, and more than that, it would be another glimpse into the past he kept so carefully hidden. Dean had agreed immediately.

“It’s nothing like your farm, I know, but--”

“It’s wonderful,” Dean interrupts. “Come on. Show me the inside.”

After tending to the horses and leaving them in the small barn off to the side of the house, they manage to wrench the door open. It’s slightly warped from years of disuse, and Dean adds it to the mental list of projects they can work on over the next week. Neither he nor Castiel particularly enjoys being idle, and he knows they’ll both take pride in restoring this place to its former state. Besides, if it stays warm during the day, they’ll likely work shirtless, and that’s a gift to them both.

The door groans open, revealing a surprisingly spacious interior. To their left is an open kitchen and dining area, and to their right, a parlour furnished with plush chairs that will probably be quite comfortable once they’ve been aired out. Towards the back of the house is a door that Dean assumes leads to a bedchamber, and a shiver of anticipation runs down his spine at the sight of it.

They’ve spent evenings kissing until Dean practically melts from it, but it’s never felt like the right time for more. He isn’t going to set any expectations-- not for himself, and certainly not for Castiel-- but he can’t help glancing towards that door regardless, thinking about all the possibilities it presents.

Castiel clears his throat, and Dean turns to face him, trying to hide the direction of his thoughts. Judging by the amused look on Castiel’s face, he fails miserably.

“Yes, there’s only one bed,” Castiel says. He raises one eyebrow. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Throat dry, Dean manages to croak out, “No.”

“Good.” Castiel nods briskly. “Let’s get unpacked, shall we? I want to have a look at the well and make sure the rope hasn’t rotted away.”

He strides towards the door, leaving Dean frozen in bewildered arousal. After a moment, he shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and follows. 

He always knew Castiel Novak was going to be the death of him. He just didn’t expect to go out this way.

Unsurprisingly, Castiel is a strict taskmaster. “We need to get a few of the more pressing situations under control,” he says, “before we can relax and slowly take care of the others.”

He’s right, of course, but Dean is still enough of a little shit to enjoy winding him up. “I thought this was supposed to be a vacation,” he whines as Castiel points him towards the covered woodpile at the side of the house.

“Channel your frustration into your woodchopping,” Castiel replies, entirely unmoved. “I’m going to check on the roof. I don’t want to be woken up by a leak in the middle of the night.”

He climbs nimbly up the rickety ladder he’d dragged out from the barn, leaving Dean scowling after him. 

“Channel your frustration,” Dean mutters as he swings the axe down on the first log. “Oh, I’ve got plenty to channel, let me tell you that.”

He really does hate it when Castiel is right, but he does feel better once there’s a neat pile of wood ready for the fire. It’s bloody hot under the afternoon sun, though, so he peels off his shirt and tosses it aside, bracing the axe over one shoulder as he wipes his forehead with his free hand.

A low whistle cuts through the quiet, and Dean looks up to see Castiel perched on the roof with his legs dangling over the side and a grin on his face. Dean narrows his eyes at him, the pieces suddenly falling into place.

“Was this some big plan to get me sweaty and bare-chested?” he asks.

“Yes,” Castiel answers. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Dean puts down the axe, stands up straighter and watches as Castiel’s eyes follow his movement. “Get down here,” he orders, voice gruff, and is pleased at how quickly Castiel scrambles back down the ladder and into his arms.

“You terrify me sometimes, you know that?” Dean tells him.

“I know.” Castiel smiles at him, then leans in to kiss him so thoroughly Dean’s knees go weak. “Now get back to work.”

“Can’t I just stand here and look pretty?” Dean pouts.

“Tempting,” Castiel murmurs, his eyes moving leisurely over Dean’s torso. “Very tempting. But no. The sun will be going down soon, and I’d like to get the barn shored up before then.”

Dean sighs. It’s a cheap trick, playing on Dean’s devotion to Impala, but he’s right, once again. The days are getting shorter, and the walls of the barn are sagging in certain spots. Dean doesn’t mind roughing it himself-- they managed that week in the forest quite well-- but he hates the thought of Impala in any discomfort.

They work until the sun sets, then take turns washing up at the well before heading inside for supper. Castiel has boiled water for tea and made soup from the provisions they brought with them from the castle, and it’s both welcome and unfamiliar to sit him with in the small kitchen, legs tangled together under the table. 

“I like this house,” Dean declares as he finishes the last of his tea. “Even if it is a lot of work.”

One corner of Castiel’s mouth turns up. “The best things usually are.”

Dean laughs, reaching out to take his hand. “Yeah. Can’t argue with that.”

He wants to say something else, something profound and meaningful, but what comes out instead is an enormous yawn. He hastily covers his mouth with his free hand, but it’s too late. Castiel sputters with laughter and presses a kiss to the back of Dean’s hand before rising from the table. “Go get ready for bed,” he says. “I’ll clean up here.”

The domesticity of it all brings a lump to Dean’s throat, and he pauses to kiss Castiel’s cheek on his way to the bedchamber. They’d aired out the sheets and quilt earlier in the afternoon, and Dean leaves the window open a crack to let in the breeze as he strips down to his drawers. 

He pauses then, eyeing the bed. It’s wide, and looks quite comfortable, but Dean is suddenly frozen in place. Does Castiel have a preferred side? Is it presumptuous of him to take the right side like he prefers without discussing it?

He jumps at the sound of Castiel’s low voice. “Is it really that intimidating?”

Dean whirls to face him. “You startled me.”

Castiel shrugs, undoing the laces on his shirt and tugging it over his head. It’s an efficient distraction, and it takes a moment for Dean to remember why he was hesitating.

“Do you, uh”-- he waves a hand at the bed-- “have a side you prefer?”

Castiel pauses with his hands on the waist of his trousers and gives him a positively smouldering look from under his lashes. “I’m versatile.”

Dean bites back a groan and practically dives onto the bed, settling himself on the right and closing his eyes before he bursts into flames at the sight of Castiel mostly-naked. A moment later, the sheets are pulled back as Castiel joins him, blowing out the candle by the side of the bed as he does.

They’re finally here, in the same bed, with no young royals in nearby chambers and no one else around for miles. Dean aches for Castiel with a longing he’s never felt before, but--

“I’m so fucking tired,” he admits. 

The bed shakes with Castiel’s laughter. “So am I.” Rolling over on his side, he looks down into Dean’s face. “I know I’ve made you wait a long time--”

“Hey,” Dean interrupts. “I’d wait a lot longer for you.”

Castiel’s eyes soften, and he presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “We have time,” he whispers. 

Maybe he’s getting old, or just allowing himself to be soft, but that one gesture undoes Dean completely. He nods, then rolls onto his side. Clever as always, Castiel takes his hint and pulls him back against his chest so they’re curled up together, safe and secure. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, and Dean barely has time to mumble a reply before sleep claims him.

He wakes up warm and content, but with something tickling the back of his neck. Grumbling, Dean twists to bat it away, but is held in place by the strong arm over his chest. The arm that belongs to Castiel, whose slight stubble is creating that rasping sensation as he nuzzles into Dean’s neck. And whose morning erection Dean can feel pressing against his backside.

What a thing to wake up to.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough from sleep. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replies, lips still pressed to Dean’s neck. It sends a delicious thrill down his spine, and Dean can’t resist rolling over to meet those roving lips with his own.

Their kisses are lazy at first, both of them still soft and sweet from sleep. Castiel is so warm under Dean’s hands, smooth skin over hard muscle and bone, and he’s pliant in a way Dean has never seen him before, sighing as Dean pulls him closer into his embrace.

They’re both hard, and the more Dean’s body awakens, the more he wants to finally know what Castiel sounds like when he comes. Pulling back, he meets Castiel’s eyes and sees no hesitation there. “Touch me,” Castiel says, so Dean does.

He braces himself on his forearms and stretches out over Castiel, kissing his cheeks and his jaw and the tip of his nose before moving to his ear, his neck, the gorgeous line of his collarbone. He shifts some of his weight onto his knees so he can free his hands, stroking his fingers lightly across the delicate skin of Castiel’s inner elbow, and is rewarded by his low moan. 

Dean places a kiss to the centre of Castiel’s chest and looks up at him. Castiel’s eyes are wide, bright even in the scant sunlight spilling through the window, and there’s so much trust and affection in his gaze that Dean can barely stand it. Surging forward, he meets Castiel’s lips in a messy kiss that leaves them both breathless.

It’s only when he pulls back that Dean realizes he’s been unconsciously grinding his hips against Castiel’s, desperately seeking some relief for his aching cock. He starts to apologize, but Castiel shakes his head and smiles up at him. Lifting his hands from the bed, he runs them slowly down Dean’s spine until they rest at the small of his back, making Dean arch into the touch. Gently, he pulls Dean forward so their groins press together, and Dean throws his head back with a groan at the feeling of Castiel’s cock rubbing against his.

They rock together in a gentle rhythm, the pleasure building as their breathing becomes laboured. Dean would be happy to come just like this, but Castiel suddenly stills, holding Dean locked in place. “Tell me what you want,” he says, one thumb brushing light circles over Dean’s waist. 

“Anything,” Dean says hoarsely. “Everything.”

A slow smile spreads across Castiel’s face. “Everything?” One of his hands wanders lower, brushing over Dean’s ass, and he thrusts forward instinctively. 

“Gods, yes,” Dean breathes. “That. I want that.”

He’s thought about it a thousand times before: Castiel inside of him, all over him, the stretch and the burn and the delicious fullness. He wants it so bad he could cry, even if it means leaving this bed to find something to--

Twisting underneath him, Castiel reaches into the drawer beside the bed and pulls out a small bottle of oil. “Has that been here all these years?” Dean asks. “Because I gotta say, that’s some serious foresight.”

Castiel rolls his eyes fondly. “No. I put it there yesterday when you were washing up.”

“Oh.” A warm feeling settles in Dean’s chest, knowing Castiel wants this as much as he does. “Clever of you.”

“Yes,” Castiel says patiently. “Now, if we can proceed--”

Dean nods his enthusiastic agreement, and Castiel surges up to kiss him. “Will you take these off?” he mumbles against Dean’s lips as he tugs at his drawers. “I want to watch you get yourself ready.”

Scrambling off his lap, Dean complies. He arranges himself on his back, legs spread wide, as he pours the oil over his hand under Castiel’s intent gaze. Castiel’s drawers are somewhere on the floor alongside Dean’s, and he strokes his heavy cock with one hand as he watches Dean gently work a finger inside of himself.

Someday, Dean would really like to feel those clever fingers stretching him open, but he can’t deny the eroticism of Castiel watching as he does it to himself. It’s been a long time since Dean has pleasured himself this way, but he knows his own body, and by the time he’s confident he’s ready, Castiel’s eyes have darkened nearly to black and his lower lip is raw from being held between his own teeth.

“You’re stunning,” Castiel tells him, voice rough. “Can I--”

“Yes,” Dean says, sliding his fingers free and pulling Castiel closer with his other hand. “Please.”

Settling himself between Dean’s legs, Castiel leans down to kiss him as he guides himself into Dean’s body. He’s thick, but slick with the oil, and Dean relaxes into the intrusion until Castiel is fully sheathed within him. He feels impossibly good there-- and then he starts to move.

Dean moans as he wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist. He moves slowly, deliberately, controlled as ever, as though his single goal is to make Dean fall apart completely beneath him. Dean has been dreaming about this for years, but he’d never imagined it could feel this good. He wonders distantly what it would have been like, if Castiel had accepted his invitation all those years ago-- the sex would have been great, he’s sure, but without all the tangled history between them, it could never compare to this.

Rocking his hips, he matches Castiel’s rhythm, bringing his hands up to twine around the back of his neck. “Cas,” he sighs, too blissed out to manage the extra syllables. “Gods, Cas, just like that.”

Castiel lets out a strangled gasp, his rhythm faltering. He’s trembling under Dean’s hands, and with a start, Dean realizes he’s been holding back. 

“Let go for me, sweetheart,” Dean coaxes. “Give it to me good.”

A shudder runs through Castiel’s body, and he thrusts forward with more force and less finesse than before. Dean moans, spreading his legs as wide as he can as Castiel continues to gain speed. His hair is tangled beneath Dean’s hands and his eyes are blown wide, all that cool composure finally stripped away, and Dean thinks he’s never looked more beautiful.

He’s hitting the spot that lights Dean up from the inside, and Dean doesn’t know how much longer he can possibly last. Reaching down, he wraps his hand around his cock, stroking himself in time to Castiel’s movements. A growl escapes Castiel as he looks down to see Dean’s hand sliding over his cock. “Yes,” he says. “I want to see you come, Dean.”

Dean isn’t about to argue with that. A few more deep thrusts, Castiel’s mouth hot and wet against the side of his neck, and Dean succumbs, his pleasure crashing over him like the waves of the sea on the shore. He shudders through it, blinking up at Castiel through dazed eyes, barely managing to croak out, “Your turn.”

Castiel laughs, slams his hips forward one last time, and comes, his entire body tensing up as he does. “Dean,” he sighs, and then slumps forward onto Dean’s chest like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Dean smooths his sweat-matted hair away from his forehead and murmurs softly to him until Castiel rouses himself enough to lean in for a kiss. “Well,” he says as he pulls back, smiling down at Dean. “That was--”

“Everything,” Dean says. 

Castiel goes soft in his arms. “Everything,” he echoes. He seems about to say something else, but instead, he just curls forward, resting his head on Dean’s chest.

Dean doesn’t mind. He closes his eyes and strokes his hands down Castiel’s back, feeling the powerful muscles beneath his smooth skin. Muscles he just put to excellent use, Dean thinks, shifting slightly beneath him. He’s going to feel this for days, and he couldn’t be more smug about it.

Soon enough, they’ll manage to disentangle themselves from the rumpled sheets. They’ll wash each other off with water cold from the well, and warm themselves back up with heated kisses. They’ll make breakfast and explore the woods, and Castiel will show him the stream where he learned to fish, the patches of forest where he learned to follow a trail, and the clearing where he first began to practice his swordplay.

They’ll sit in the kitchen talking about times when Jack and Claire were young-- younger, at least, than they are now-- and they’ll bicker over endless games of Peril. They’ll wonder how long it will be before Sam and Jack team up to form a research group studying dragons, or before Kaia reveals her magic to the court. They’ll spar together until one of them pulls a dirty trick and they end up making love under the late summer sun. They’ll stay up late, curled together on the armchair, talking quietly about the times they hurt each other and the ways they’re sorry for it now. 

The past is the past, spread out below them like a tangled web of roots, complicated but necessary. Dean is more interested in the present, this moment with Castiel in his arms, and in the future that’s unfurling before them like a new leaf on a sturdy tree.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to leave some love for Aceriee's [amazing art here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811328)!


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